


Bounty

by Ruminavi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blanket Fic, Bounty Hunters, Country & Western, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Moral Ambiguity, Original Fiction, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruminavi/pseuds/Ruminavi
Summary: When Bounty's parents named him, they thought they destined their son for a life of abundance and wealth. For most of his life, they did - until the polished gentleman banker got caught up in small town politics and ended up on a wanted sign.Now he's on the run, and the hunter on his tail will stop at nothing to track him down. That is, until he actually succeeds in capturing his target and finds out thatthisBounty isn't anything like he expected.14 chapters. Updates weekly on saturdays.
Relationships: Original Male Character & Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Bounty saw Basque his world was turning to chaos.

It was early in the morning, still pitch dark, when the shouting started, waking Bounty from his fitful sleep.

The first thing he noticed was that the desert air was brutally cold and dry, and that there was dust in his eyes.

He rubbed them and raised his head, trying to see what was going on over the lurking shadows of the scattered packs and saddles that littered his party’s makeshift campsite.

He didn’t understand, at first, what he was looking at. Near the central fire there was a man. He was grinning like a maniac and his eyes were glittering, face was underlit crazily by the flickering red light of embers recently stirred to life.

The vision sent ice through Bounty’s veins.

He knew instinctively that this was a man who wanted to burn everything down and scatter the ashes. He had begun this project by stampeding their horses. They squealed in alarm and the ground shook under their hooves as they bolted, flashing shadows in the background.

Bounty took in the unruly mop of dirty blonde hair, the long coat, the dual six-shooters, the sharp cheekbones, the crazy grin and came to an alarming conclusion.

It was unmistakably the Hunter, the big blonde wolf, the mastermind and the sharpshooter Basque Vilante. He had started with chaos. He would finish with his gun to Bounty’s head.

Bounty fought the urge to jump to his feet. That instinct could kill him now. No. He needed to get out of here, but he needed to do it carefully.

Then the report of the Hunter’s gun echoed off the canyon wall and Bounty sprung into life like a flushed rabbit, forgetting his determination to lay still.

Someone was screaming in pain, off to his right.

The Hunter held his pistol in one hand, high in the air, casual and relaxed, utterly unworried. He’s looking for his next target, Bounty realized.

_He’s looking for me. And I’m standing here like a fool._

Basque turned in a slow circle, looking, eyes narrowed, toward Bounty –

Suddenly, there was another sharp report.

Basque flinched. Bounty’s party was shooting back. The Hunter looked annoyed at this development. He wasn’t hit, but he had stopped his slow turn, now, and was looking to where the shot had come from.

Bounty was close enough to see the slow smile spread even wider on a generous mouth as he found the shooter, fumbling to reload. Grinning like a big blonde wolf closing in on his kill.

 _Now_. Bounty had to go. He had to run or die.

He turned and stumbled blindly into the dark, the echo of Basque’s shot ringing in his ears.

~*~

The first time Basque saw Bounty had been two weeks before the night raid on the smugglers camp.

His face had appeared on a “wanted” sign on the outskirts of Devil’s Glen.

Given Basque's chosen profession, this was not an unusual way for him to first see a man. But Bounty made him stop and stare.

He looked tidy and professional in his carefully pressed suit and jacket. Basque would have pegged him for a lawyer or a banker, maybe. He looked wealthy and straight as an arrow.

He was definitely out of place in the “Wanted Poster” genre, which tended towards shifty looking men covered in road dust and too much facial hair.

As he read the poster more carefully, Basque also thought it was deeply funny that a man named Bounty had a bounty on his head. It was surely not what his poor mother had had in mind when she named her baby boy.

So Bounty had caught his eye, made him smile, and drawn his interest.

But Basque at the time was in a bit of a hurry.

Someone was trying to kill Basque, so in light of more pressing matters, he left the poster alone.

~*~

But Bounty came back to him a few days later.

The guy who was trying to kill Basque died in a bar on the outskirts of town following a minor shoot-out in which Basque was most definitely involved.

Now he was seated in the shabby office of Devil’s Glen’s corrupt Sheriff George Mace with his cuffed hands propped uncomfortably on the desk in front of him. He’d just finished being told that that he was going to be arrested and hanged for murder, which he stringently objected to.

Following his objection, he’d been told that there was, in fact, a way he could avoid this outcome and come out a little richer besides. He just had to do the Sheriff of Devil’s Glen a very small favour.

Basque watched, hypnotized, as Bounty’s photograph was slid across a desk by the meaty, heavily ringed hand.

“Dead or alive,” growled the meaty Sheriff. “Preferably dead.”

Basque stared at the image for a long time and recognised it.

Now that he had more time to study the photograph, it seemed to him that the serious mouth, turned down slightly at one corner, was vaguely reproving. The clean-shaven face definitely belonged to a gentleman. He was too good for his surroundings, vaguely bored at having to sit for a photo, and accustomed, Basque would guess, to stiff linen shirts and fine wool suits.

Basque didn’t have to try very hard to imagine that face selling him insurance.

As a whole, Basque mused, he stood by his original assessment. This _definitely_ was not the kind of man one saw on “wanted” posters. Or, for that matter, slid clandestinely across desks under the grubby hand of an angry Sheriff.

Even an angry _corrupt_ Sheriff. 

What in the world could a man like Mace want from a man like Bounty? The two belonged to different worlds.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Basque lifted his eyes to meet said Sheriff’s gaze across the photograph of the bounty named Bounty. He was careful to keep his expression neutral. He didn’t want to give away his curiosity.

“What did he do, turn you down for a mortgage?”

“Does it matter?” Mace growled in response, his doughy mouth turning down with displeasure. “I think what I’m offering you is more than sufficient to render the issue moot.”

It was a fair point. In addition to the offer of conveniently forgetting about the murder charges, Mace was offering him twenty-five thousand marks. It was a hefty sum. More, in fact, than Basque had seen for a target for several years.

Basque pursed his lips and eyed Mace carefully.

“ _Au contraire_ , Sheriff,” he drawled in a very bad approximation of a French accent, “what you’re offering me is enough to render the issue _suspicious_. If this was a straight up snatch and grab for a couple thousand, I wouldn’t worry about it. But –“ Basque stabbed his finger in the air in the big man’s direction, which was awkward with the cuffs on. They jingled, punctuating his words.

“That’s not what you’ve presented me with, now is it?” Basque leaned forward over Bounty’s photograph, looking Mace directly in his little piggy eyes. “Twenty-five thousand. Dead or alive. Plus the deal. On a deadline. Everything on the down low. It makes me think there’s more to the story than you’ve let on. And you know I don’t like _complications_.”

Mace met Basque’s gaze evenly, his small watery eyes giving nothing away. He let the silence stretch.

Behind him, a “constable” shifted nervously.

People did not normally question Mace. Usually questioning Mace got them killed.

But Basque was not afraid of Mace. He was not afraid of anyone. Sometimes that had gone badly for him, but this time he had a feeling it wouldn’t.

The constable’s small eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he glared across the table into Basque’s impassive blue eyes.

“There’s nothing you need to know, Hunter. He’s a slippery bastard, but it should be easy for you. And if you must know, the price is high because its _personal_.” The last part was hissed, as if it pained Mace to admit.

Basque leaned back in his chair, unintimidated, and quirked an eyebrow at the old Sheriff.

“Personal, huh?”

The Sheriff looked away, his face reddening with anger.

“Yes, personal.” He said. Then, annoyed, sputtered a curse and gave in.

“As you have so _aptly_ observed, the boy is not some street thug needing to be put down. This is high level. We were allies. He betrayed me. He and his _kind_ need to be taught a lesson.” The Sheriff met Basque’s gaze again and glared hard.

“Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

Basque made a show of examining his dirty fingernails.

“And you tried to catch him, but he gave you the slip, that right?”

There was another tense silence.

“In a manner of speaking,” Mace said tightly, after a few moments. It seemed like he wasn’t going to elaborate. Then he added, grudgingly, “he’s not dangerous. He’s a city kid. But he’s smart. He got around us more than once, and now he’s left town. If there’s one thing you should know, its to keep a close eye on him and don’t trust a _word_ he says. Like I said before, he’s slippery.”

Basque found this information unhelpful, but made a show of considering it for a few drawn-out seconds. All bounties were slippery. It was part of having a bounty on your heard. But he knew better than to comment.

After a time, he said “A bounty named Bounty, eh?” He was musing, half to himself.

Mace glowered and said nothing.

“Ok,” Basque said eventually. “I’ll consider it.”

He stood up and held his hands out, giving the cuffs a little shake, and motioning for the thug on Mace’s shoulder to come take the cuffs off.

No one moved.

“What do you mean consider, Hunter?” Mace asked, an edge on his voice.

Behind Mace, hired hands shifted almost imperceptibly toward hired guns. Basque’s gaze flickered contemptuously over the two muscled constables. He was cuffed for Christ’s sake.

“I mean I’ll consider it, Mace. You know I make no promises. I’ll keep an eye out. I’ll think about your price. If you’re lucky, I’ll bring him in. If not…” Basque shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished. Mace glared up at Basque as his stood over the desk.

“It would be better if you brought him, Hunter,” he said tightly. He gestured at his hired muscle to come unlock the cuffs.

Basque shrugged again. “You know I don’t like to turn my nose up at twenty-five thousand marks, Mace,” he said quietly, giving a little. 

“Everything I told you remains confidential.” The Sheriff reminded him gruffly. The constable grabbed Basque’s wrists roughly as he removed the cuffs.

“Sure,” said Basque non-committedly, rubbing his wrists. “I have no interest in sharing this around. I don’t like competition.” He hoped it sounded reassuring. He reached down and picked up the photograph Basque had showed him, tucking it in his pocket.

This seemed to do the trick because Mace nodded.

“Then I wish you good hunting.”


	2. Chapter 2

Basque took a circuitous route to the dockyards to make sure he wasn’t followed.

He couldn’t help it – the Sheriff gave him the creeps. He didn’t trust the guy as far as he could throw him, and Mace was a _big_ man.

The normally hot, dry air of Devil’s glen was pleasantly warm as the sun began to set, residual heat radiating from paving stones. There were a few people out, bustling here and there in dusty work clothes, and not paying Basque much attention.

Eventually became clear that no one had followed him. Basque relaxed.

The Glen was a merchant town, and Basque’s home since he’d settled here 10 years ago as a refugee of the southern wars. A lot had changed since then, but the city’s beating heart was still the ocean docks where the big merchant ships came in.

Basque made his way through the winding cobbled streets, joining dock workers and sailors milling about, shoppers purchasing fresh food for dinner, revelers moving between bars and restaurants, and well-dressed men and women hurrying about looking disdainful of the dust and crowds as they went about their business at the banks and guilds. It was chaos and he loved it. It felt like home.

It took him a few tries to find Meera.

If the heart of this city was the ocean, its wallet belonged to Meera.

She traded in everything that could be carried on a ship – tea, spices, cloth, dry goods, tools and equipment – even, on occasion, horses and livestock. She owned multiple warehouses in the district, and moved between them constantly, checking inventories, unloading wagons and boats, and handling accounts. Basque had never caught her sleeping and suspected she didn’t. She always seemed to be working at one of her depots, no matter the time of day. The trick was figuring out which one.

He knew from experience that she didn’t like it when she asked after him (too suspicious) and that her employees weren’t much help anyway (too loyal). So his best strategy was to check the most likely spots until he spotted her long black hair, heard her authoritative bellowing voice, or saw people scrambling to attention with a look of fear in their eyes. Alternatively, he just followed the flow of whatever extremely valuable good had recently come to Devil’s Glen to its nexus, where she would inevitably be found talking down its price to some criminally low sum with the unfortunate owner.

Basque finally found her standing in the entrance to one of her cavernous establishments, her hair tied messily back, lips pursed and brow furrowed as she glared hard at a piece of paper in her hands. She was dressed for riding, in long pants and a light shirt open at the collar. When she caught sight of him, her frown deepened.

“Oh, its you,” she said darkly in her lightly accented voice.

“Lovely to see you, too, my Lady Meera,” Basque returned, dialing up the charm to nauseating sweetness.

“I’ve been waiting here for half an hour for this damned weaver, and the fucker is late,” she growled. “I thought for half a heartbeat you were him. Got my hopes up.”

Basque spread his hands in an appeasing gesture.

“If I could transform myself into your weaver, I would,” he said, laying it on a little more thickly, just for kicks.

“But for now you’ll have to make do with my charming manners and good company.” He paused and plastered on his most roguish smile fore effect.

Impervious, she just raised an eyebrow at him irritably. Basque cut to the point.

“Since your merchant is late, do you have a minute to talk?”

Meera rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

“You want something. Of course. Why else would you be here? Well fuck it, I haven’t got anything better to do.” She crumpled the bill in her hand and shoved it unceremoniously in her pocket.

“JACK!” she bellowed. A terrified-looking man poked his head out from behind one of the boxes in the warehouse behind her. Meera pointed at him angrily. “If that silk fucker shows up tell him he’ll have to wait. I’m going to the back for a while.”

“yes ma’am.”

Basque smiled and followed Meera as she turned on her heel and headed back into the warehouse.

“Goddamn weavers,” she muttered under her breath. “The ego of an artist and the business sense of a fucking toad. It doesn’t help that Mace has been fucking around with their imports, but damn.” 

“the Sheriff?” Basque asked, mildly surprised. He knew Mace had been scraping off the top of local profits for years, but didn’t think the man was stupid enough to try and expand his influence.

“Who else?” she tossed over her shoulder. “Guy doesn’t know when to stop, if you ask me. He’s going to bring the ire of the guilds down on himself, and I don’t think that’s a fight he wants to pick.”

She led him to a large, well-appointed office in the back of the warehouse. Its décor felt at odds with her attire, but Basque knew that this was not always the case. Meera could turn from grubby dock rat to polished merchant queen in the blink of an eye, flitting between whatever role suited her current audience best.

She had known Basque for a long time, so for him she didn’t bother with pretentions. She plopped unceremoniously down behind a large mahogany desk, propping her elbows on the surface as if she owned the place, which she did.

Basque closed the door behind them and then sat across from her in one of three comfortable-looking chairs.

“Well, spit it out,” she said, before his butt had even hit the pillows.

“Its nice to see you too,” Basque rejoined, dryly. “I thought our friendship meant more to you than that.”

“Cut the crap. You need information. Who is it this time, and what have you been offered?”

“How have you been?” Basque asked, ignoring her. “Last time I saw you we were fleecing that merchant captain for everything he was worth.”

It had been a lot. Meera smiled slightly and leaned back a little in her seat, eyes growing distant.

“And you got most of it because I owed you one,” he added, pointedly. It never hurt to remind Meera she owed him a favor.

“I remember, Bee,” she said, her face softening slightly. “The look on his face when he figured out what we’d done…it’s something I’ll treasure forever.”

“Speaking of treasure,” Basque said, carefully, and her eyes sharpened onto his face again. This time the half smile remained.

Meera was terrifying, and not the kind of person to do anyone any favours – but Basque had an advantage.

Deep down Basque knew that she loved a risky game of cat and mouse just as much as he did.

In fact, he had found that they worked extremely well together. She provided the information and the financing, he provided the chasing people down, trussing them up like a lamb, and dragging them back to face the music.

“Tell me more.” She said simply.

“It’s a hunt,” he replied casually. “On an unorthodox sort of target. I need some info.”

She was silent for a few moments, looking thoughtful.

“Unorthodox? How so?”

Basque took Bounty’s photo out of his pocket, smoothed it, and slid it across the desk toward her. He watched her face carefully, but her expression didn’t change.

“I see.” She said presently.

“Know anything?” Basque tried not to sound too hopeful. Meera leaned back in her seat, folding her hands across her hips.

“Yep,” she said. “But at the moment I’m not particularly inclined to do any favours for your patron.” She knew it was Mace, obviously.

“He’s been pissing me off. So you’re going to have to sweeten the deal. What do I get out of it?”

“The pleasure of helping a friend?” Basque tried.

She just looked at him.

“The satisfaction of seeing justice carried out?”

This, at least, earned a derisive snort.

“Justice!”

“A favour from me, payable in good looks and charm?” He was getting desperate.

She leaned forward again.

“Cut the crap. How much have you been offered, Bee?”

Basque sighed. “Lots, Meera,” he said as evasively as he could. “Enough to keep me out of trouble for the rest of the year, at least.”

He met her eyes. “But it’s a drop in the bucket for you, Meera. You know that.” He hoped he didn’t sound too pleading.

“So what…fifteen thousand? Sixteen?” he cursed her perceptiveness and didn’t answer.

“What? More than that? Twenty?”

Basque tried to evade, but knew that she had him. “Around that.”

“Oh my god, twenty-five thousand? Basque you shouldn’t hold out on me. At this rate bounty-hunting is like to be more profitable than merchanting and I should consider a career change!” Then her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Goddamn that bastard must be doing well for himself, skimming off the top of my import trade and everyone else’s…well…I guess it makes sense…”

Then she noticed Basque looking down at his hands, and Meera leaned across the desk again.

“Oh, don’t worry Bee, I’m not going to ask you for a cut. Twenty-five thousand is a lot, but you’re right on one count - your favours have proved more valuable to me than a few hundred marks.”

Her gaze was intense. “However, as a friend, I think you should know that in this case you should know that you’re probably being ripped off.”

Basque raised his eyes to meet her eyes, surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“This one’s worth more to Mace than twenty-five thousand. And believe it or not he’s even more unorthodox than he appears.” Basque remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“He’s a banker. Well, _was_ a banker.”

“I _knew_ it,” Basque muttered.

Meera eyed him. “Worked on high street,” she continued, ignoring his interruption. “Respectable young man from a good family. Then a while back he got caught up in some shady business.” Her eyes got a bit distant. “I don’t know _all_ the details.”

This was a lie, Basque perceived. But he didn’t say anything about it.

“Then about a week ago he showed up at Tommy’s place,” she continued, on firmer ground again.

Basque knew the spot. It was one of Mace’s, in that Tommy paid protection money to the Sheriff and Mace had strong interests in the business.

It was not a place you went by accident, unless you had business with Mace.

Meera’s eyes flicked back to Basque’s face and she leaned forward.

“He brought a gun. To Tommy’s. Shot six of Mace’s people in cold blood, and then split. He shouldn’t have got away, but no one was expecting it…”

Meera shrugged and shoot her head, clearly judging Mace’s people for their lack of foresight.

Basque was shocked. He blinked.

“He what?”

Meera smirked at him, leaned back, and crossed her arms.

“You heard right. Walked into Tommy’s, bold as fucking brass, and put six bullets in six brains like some sort of professional killer. And got away with it while everyone was milling about like fucking idiots.” She shook her head in apparent amazement at the boldness of it.

Basque was blown away. His eyes dropped back to the man in the poster.

Bounty stared back at him calmly, giving nothing away. His suit remained crisp and clean and spotless, his face smooth and perfect. He didn’t look like a man who would walk into a bar run by one of the most powerful men in town, shot six of his people, and then walk out. 

“Why did he do it?” he asked. Meera just shrugged.

“I don’t fucking know, Bee. I’m not his therapist. Maybe he just fucking snapped.” 

This was also lie, and Basque knew it. But he didn’t push the issue.

“Anyone know where he went?”

“I told you,” said Meera. “Everyone was milling about, and he split before anyone could see where he went.”

“Yeah, that’s what you _told_ me,” said Basque. “But I don’t believe it. Someone’s seen him.”

Meera quirked her lips.

“Yeah, he’s gone to ground but he’s not invisible.”

Basque felt excitement course into him. Not invisible. She knew.

“Where?” he breathed.

He had to physically stop himself from leaning forward in anticipation.

Meera knew how to bait him. She was silent for a few moments, smiling. She liked seeing him desperate, the sadistic bitch.

“Where would _you_ go?” she asked eventually.

Basque leaned back, thinking. Where would he go if he’d just pissed off the most dangerous man in town? Where would he feel safe? It was a tricky question. Mace’s influence was wide and complicated.

“I’d go far. Very, very far. And then I’d change my name and everything about me and go to ground for a long time.”

Meera nodded. “Smart. And Bounty’s smart.”

Boats were out. Mace would watch the boats. So he’d have headed either North or into the mountains.

“Mountains?” he asked. Meera nodded

“He was seen in Staccado three days ago.” She looked smug.

She would deny it until the day she died, but Basque knew she thrived on this stuff. She would have made a hell of a bounty hunter -- if she had thought it would make her any money.

“One of the farm families who came out of the hills this week told me,” she finished with a little smile. 

Basque felt anticipation building in him, and drummed his fingers on Meera’s desk.

“Does anyone else know?”

Meera shrugged. “You’d be a fucking idiot if you thought you were the only one Mace had put on his tail, but I doubt the girl who talked to me talked to anyone else. And even if she did, they may not have made the connection. And if there were other sources out there, I think I’d fucking know about it.”

Basque nodded thoughtfully, chewing a lip. 

He was going to have to buy a horse.

He stood up.

“Where are you going?” She sounded cross.

“To buy a horse.”

Meera stood too, huffing a laugh.

“Ok. Good luck, Bee. Never one to waste time.” Then her smile disappeared and she pointed at him, her eyebrows drawing together sternly.

“Remember you owe me one. Don’t get killed before I can cash it in.”

~*~

Basque used a substantial chunk of his remaining capital to buy a big roan gelding (with tack), food for the road, and silence from the stablemaster.

It wouldn’t do to have rumours floating about.

As soon as his butt hit the saddle, he was on the road, riding out of Devil’s Glen at a canter, his hat pulled down over his eyes, long coat fluttering behind. 

Basque travelled light. His saddle-bags contained most of what he owned – a few blankets, ammunition, a little food, and a good length of high-quality rope. The better to truss up wayward bankers with.

Staccado was four days’ ride through rough, dry country. The city itself was nestled in the topography where the land rose into the mountains. It was smaller than Devil’s Glen, and poorer. Most of the economy came from the nearby farms eking a living from the fertile soil along the Saccado River.

Basque made quick work of the journey, riding through the night and the coolest parts of the day, and sleeping during the heat in what shade he could find, or, on two occasions, in quiet road houses.

The horse he’d bought turned out to be excellent stock. He found himself growing fond of the big animal. He was big boned with big ears and a calm personality. He carried Basque uncomplaining through the deserted landscape, stayed close to camp at night, and didn’t spook easily. It was more than could be said for mot horses bought in a hurry. Basque considered himself fortunate.

As he rode Basque tried to put himself in Bounty’s shoes, get in the banker’s head. He imagined that if he was a man on the run taking this same route, the quiet road and empty desert would have made him feel a lot better about things.

But if Bounty was relaxing, it was a mistake.

The thought of his quarry made Basque’s lips curl up into a predatory little smile.

Basque had never had never had a bounty like this before. Hell, he’d barely traded ten words with men as well dressed and clean cut as the man in Mace’s photograph. He wondered what the other man would be like, in person. What motivated him? Would he try and bribe the hunter, perhaps? Would he be whiney? Would he still be wearing that crisp black suit?

The unremarkable landscape and long dry days left plenty of time for speculation.

Near the end of the third day the mountains showed blue and dark on the horizon. As Basque progressed the ground steadily became rougher and the hills loomed larger. Here there were steep winding canyons, where water had eroded the soft soil into deep dusty trenches. In the spring these would flash flood. In the summer and fall it became a shifting maze. As a direct result, the whole area was rife of bandits, smugglers, and other groups of people conducting questionably legal behaviour.

It was the perfect place for a fugitive.

And indeed, it did not take long for Basque to find his quarry.

Basque spotted the band of ragtag riders the next morning as the sun rose, kicking up dust like a flag as they left to road and filed into the sheltering canyon. Basque spotted the dark hair, the slightly stiff spine, and the too-nice horse from five miles out. That must be him.

_Well, he’s not alone then._

From the looks of the little band of travelers, they looked like smugglers. They had the look about them – mismatched clothing, big wagons pulled by mules, nervous looking fellows with their hands on their guns. Basque wondered how the banker had talked his way into accompanying them. He must have lied. Maybe he was a good liar.

Well, he’d find out soon enough.

Basque followed them at a distance until nightfall. Then, early in the morning dark he snuck into their camp, cut loose all their horses, and stampeded the panicked animals through the sleeping party.

In the chaos that followed, he’d looked for Bounty. But wherever he was, he kept his head down.

Then they started shooting at him.

Basque found being shot at distracting.

So, for the _first_ time, Bounty got away.


	3. Chapter 3

Basque kicked an abandoned saddle in frustration, sending up a cloud of dust. His horse snorted at him, surprised.

“What a fucking mess.”

In the wan morning light following his surprise attack on the smuggler camp, he returned to the scene of the crime in the hopes that Bounty might have left a clue. He was tired and hungry after a long night of tracking down smugglers in the dark.

He’d caught up with a few of them – little groups scattered into the surrounding canyons. He’d been shot at more, which had been annoying. Most annoying of all was that no matter how many smugglers he tracked down in the dark, none of them contained Bounty.

He had evidently struck out on his own, and now the confusion of tracks created by the chaos made it impossible to know where he had gone.

“Well one thing’s for sure, he’s not here,” Basque told his horse. The animal eyed him.

Basque took one last irritated look around the ruined camp and muttered a curse under his breath. Then he strode back to his horse and swung up into the saddle. 

Well, what next then?

Bounty was a city kid. Without the support of his smuggler companions, now scattered through the landscape, tending to their wounded, and looking for their lost horses, he’d go back to what he knew. There was no way he’d stay out in the bush.

Yes, with hands that smooth, Basque would have been surprised if he could even light a fire on his own. He would head for the familiar and regroup. Once he’d got his bearings and a good night’s sleep, he’d try and attach himself to another group.

Basque turned his horse’s head toward the city and hoped he was right.

~*~

Staccado nestled in one of the deeper valleys, lining the banks of a narrow river. Little ramshackle wooden buildings crouched and clustered along narrow allies linked by long boardwalks. People moved between them, lay and slow in the hot sun.

Basque looked down on the little city from a high point on the road. The air was fresher and the foliage greener here than in the desert, fed by the river. He breathed it in and tried to think.

If he was Bounty, arriving here in the middle of the night, scared and alone, where would he go?

Basque guessed that regardless of how much time he’d had to prepare, Bounty was probably suffering. Smart he may be, but here he was way out of his depth. Basque knew one or two things about men in suits. Men in suits didn’t know how to shoot six men and get away with it. They didn’t know how to negotiate with smugglers. And they didn’t know how to flee hunters in the dark.

If Bounty had gotten out unscathed at this point, it was because he was lucky. If he was smart, he’d know this. He wouldn’t push it.

Basque scanned the town spread out before him. The steep backdrop of the mountains and the banks of the river kept the town contained. There were cattle pens and livery on the outskirts, scattered among smaller homes for livestock keepers and rough looking establishments for trade. At the western edge of town, furthest down the river, were the tanneries and slaughterhouses – big dark buildings with large, flat roofs. The downtown was a tight cluster of varied wooden buildings crowding the river bank. Basque could see lights already on, colourful tents and flags, and even at a distance see people, wagons, and horses moving through the streets. To the east, up river, this bustle thinned out a bit, businesses giving way to smaller homes and boarding houses, encroaching a little on the surrounding hills.

Somewhere in _there_ , Basque thought. A nice quiet boarding horse that wasn’t too expensive and where no one would ask any questions…

If there was a moderately expensive but suitably anonymous boarding house or hotel in there, Basque was willing to bet money that Bounty was a customer. 

Basque reached down and patted the roan’s neck, feeling suddenly a lot better. Sure, last night had failed. He’d been hasty. But he’d learned, and he’d be smarter about it this time. 

The horse bobbed his head and snorted a little, impatient to move again and looking forward to a comfortable stable and some good oats in Staccado.

He was a good horse.

He gave the animal his head and let him lead the way into the city.

~*~

It was early evening by the time Basque entered Saccado’s dusty streets. After a quick survey of the area, he decided that there were two or three hotels that were likely hideouts for his target, so he tied the roan up outside the first of and went inside. He slipped through the door behind a small group of farmers and heading immediately into the room, just in case anyone was watching the door.

It was a nicer place than Basque was accustomed to, with a big open lobby, restaurant, and bar. The furniture was clean and expensive-looking without being overly ornate, and there was a modest chandelier hanging from the high lobby ceiling.

It was dinner time, and the main room was full of trades people lounging on chairs, chatting, eating, or drinking at the bar. Basque didn’t draw any undue attention – there were a few other travellers here, sitting in groups or on their own in the restaurant.

Basque surveyed the crowd, wondering where to start.

The first time his eyes flowed over the room they skipped right over the dark-haired man at the bar – but the second time they stopped.

Basque sucked in a surprised breath.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

He looked closer – the man had half his back to him, and was sitting nonchalantly at the bar, a plate in front of him and a glass in one hand.

Oh yes, he looked wary – his head was up, and he had been careful to keep one eye on the door. But Basque’s tactic had worked (or he had gotten lucky) because it was clear that he hadn’t been seen.

Basque tried not to stare too obviously as he considered his options.

It wouldn’t do to startle the man. Basque didn’t know if he’d recognise his bounty-hunter on sight, but the chance was high enough that he didn’t want to risk it.

Bounty looked rougher than his photograph. His hair was longer, and he had lost weight. His high cheekbones looked gaunt. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but clean travellers’ clothes of the type a merchant might wear. They were plain, and didn’t fit him particularly well. No doubt about it, life on the run had taken a toll.

Basque watched from the corner of his eye, moving into the room as casually as he could. As he did he saw that Bounty ate slowly, never lowering his watchful gaze or turning his back to the door.

Smart.

At the bar, Basque pulled off his gloves and leaned over, waving to a keeper’s attention as he pulled himself up on a stool near a group of other people who paid him no attention.

From here he couldn’t see Bounty’s face but he could keep an eye on his back.

“Stew,” he said to the bar keep, who sidled up with the kind of attentive professionalism you only got at moderately nice establishments. “And a drink. Ale. Whatever you recommend.”

The man nodded crisply and turned away.

Basque collected his thoughts. Well, there was no doubt that Bounty was smart. He had done everything Basque would have done in his place – taken all the right precautions, made all the right moves. It was impressive, for a city kid. There was more to his polished veneer and clean backstory than met the eye.

Maybe they could talk about it on the way back to Devil’s Glen.

Basque weighed his options. He could play it cautious, sit back, and thoroughly case out the hotel. That way he could watch Bounty for a while, maybe figure him out a bit before making a move.

But Basque was humming with energy. He didn’t want the banker to give him the slip again. If Bounty was smart, which he clearly was, he’d have already assessed the chances of Mace tracking him down out here. And depending on what he’d decided, there was a good chance he’d be moving on soon. Maybe tonight.

Basque couldn’t risk that.

The bar keep brought food and Basque ate, chewing thoughtfully, keeping half an ear on the conversations going on around him and half an eye on his prey. Bounty never moved. By the time Basque finished eating, the place had begun to quiet down.

Basque pushed his bowl away from himself, paid the server, and reached a decision.

If he was going to move, it had to be now.

He sighed, checked the hang of his revolver under the pretence of adjusting his bulky coat, and pushed back from the bar.

He came on Bounty from behind, deliberate but not too fast.

Bounty never saw him coming. Not until it was far too late.

In one smooth motion, Basque stepped up directly behind the smaller man, pressing the barrel of his gun into Bounty’s back as he did.

His coat fell neatly across his arm, shielding everything from view.

The banker startled and stiffened at the sudden proximity and the feeling of Basque’s gold barrel pressing against his back.

Basque smiled, leaning close to place his mouth next to the banker’s ear. He delighted in the little intake of surprised breath from his target as he did. _Gotcha_.

“Hey there.” Basque’s voice was low and husky and dangerous, and he couldn’t keep the smugness out of it. 

There was a pause, as the banker breathed hard and collected himself.

As he waited, Basque noticed that Bounty smelled good. Like cinnamon, almost. He had a moment to wonder how a man who had ostensibly been riding hard on the road for several days could _possibly_ still smell like anything other than dust and sweat.

“What do you want?” Bounty asked, quietly. There was fear in his voice, but he was staying remarkably cool considering the circumstances.

Basque’s heart began to beat. He risked a quick look around. So far they hadn’t attracted any undue attention, but there tense conversation wouldn’t go unnoticed forever.

“I think you know,” he responded coolly.

Bounty was silent, but Basque could feel his breath pick up even faster.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Basque elaborated after a moment. “You’re going to stand up nice and slow, and we’re going to walk out. You first. Do anything funny, I kill you.” Basque pressed the muzzle of his gun firmly into Bounty’s back to emphasize his point.

There was a brief silence, and then: “Okay.”

Basque smiled against the side of Bounty’s face.

“Good boy.” He pulled back a half inch.

Suddenly Bounty moved, spinning on his barstool and driving his fist into Basque’s face. Basque stumbled backward, so surprised he didn’t even protect himself from the second part of Bounty’s attack, which was aimed between his legs.

Basque hit the floor like a ton a bricks, pain exploding in his body, his vision going white. As he fell he had a moment where he thought about squeezing the trigger of his gun, but it was too late. Bounty was moving, and the opportunity was gone.

Around them the rest of the room exploded into surprised shouts at the sudden outbreak of violence. As Basque struggled to rise, he saw Bounty disappear through the front door. People were turning, pointing, shouting.

Someone reached for him as he flew by, but Bounty twisted out of his grip. 

Basque could taste blood. His nose was bleeding – maybe broken.

Swearing, he pressed his hand to his face and struggled to his feet, stumbling after his escaping target. With his other hand he shoved his gun back in its holster, pushing people out of the way as he headed for the door.

Outside it was dark, but chaos had followed the fleeing Bounty as others pored out into the street. Someone was yelling for the Sheriff. Someone else fired their gun in the air. There were horses screaming and people shouting.

Basque burst out on the steps of the hotel, his hand over his nose.

He was just in time to see a roan horse go streaking by, ears pinned back, Bounty’s heels in its sides.


	4. Chapter 4

Basque was extremely upset by how things had played out.

He’d lost a good horse, his target was now alert to pursuit, and Saccado was buzzing like a hive of upset bees.

Time to get out of there.

He slammed his way back through the hotel door and shoved through the crowd to return to the front desk where the hotelier was standing, looking shocked.

“Tell me he booked a room,” Basque growled. The man was taken aback. Basque leaned over the desk and grabbed him by the collar.

“The man. Who just left. Did he book a room?”

“Sir! I can’t – “ the man began to stammer. Basque tightened his grip on the man's collar.

“Smith!” the hotelier squeaked, “room 305!”

Basque dropped him. 

The pseudonym struck him as particularly unoriginal. It added to his bad mood.

He slammed some coins on the counter (part bribe for silence, part compensation for the damage he was about to cause) and stalked up the curving central staircase toward “Smith’s” room, where he kicked the locked door off its hinges.

It was empty, of course. But not just empty of Bounty. Empty of all his things, too.

Bounty _had_ been on his way out, after all. Basque smiled grimly. Perhaps he’d just waiting for quieter hours before leaving town. He knowledge didn’t make Basque any more in control of the situation, but it made him feel marginally better about his decision-making.

Basque took the time to toss the room, turn over the furniture, and, as an afterthought, wash his bloody face in Bounty’s basin before storming down stairs again, through the chaotic dining room, and out into the cold night.

He needed another horse.

“BOY!” A sleepy-looking stable-hand, who had somehow managed not to notice the last ten minutes of commotion, emerged from one of the back rooms.

“Get me a horse.” When the boy hesitated, Basque swore and dug out another coin which he chucked at the kid harder than strictly necessary.

“Make it quick!” The boy caught the coin, gave Basque a reproachful glance, and then scurried off. A few minutes later he emerged with a black mare, tacked hurriedly and with hay sticking out of the corner of her mouth as if she’d just been interrupted from her dinner.

Well, at least she looked sound enough.

“She was lame when she came in, sir,” the boy told him.

So much for that.

“I’m sorry, but its all we have,” the boy said pleadingly, before Basque could make a scene. “She’s a lot better now. It was just a stone bruise. Just…er… ride carefully.”

Basque, who had no intention of riding carefully, gritted his teeth and snatched the reins from the kid’s hand. _It gets better and better_.

There was a crowd out front of the inn as Basque rode out, but they didn’t look at him as he passed. Apparently the constables had arrived.

It was none of Basque’s business.

Staying partially in the shadows on the opposite side of the street, he pointed the mare’s nose in the direction he’d seen his _last_ horse headed.

Time to go. 

~*~

Basque tracked his own stolen horse for three days, following a combination of reports from witnesses, hoofprints on the road, and camp sites. In doing so, he learned some interesting things about his target.

Bounty was indeed an intelligent man. He’d changed directions abruptly on the outskirts of town, heading east and north into the foothills wilderness. He avoided settlements and didn’t talk to anyone.

But he didn’t know how to camp. There was no sign of a fire, no indication that he had hobbled Basque’s horse, and all signs seemed to indicate he wasn’t eating or sleeping well. He never stayed long in camp and he didn’t stop anywhere to get food. He also didn’t visit any of the local springs for water.

Most importantly, he a lot of time being lost.

Basque realized this as he puzzled over one of Bounty’s sad little camp sites. Basque suspected he’d been aiming for the next big town out this way, a bustling little prospectors’ city known as Wilson directly to the north of Saccado. But his trail veered east from here, deeper into the mountains. Basque pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes with a big hand and sighed.

Nothing to do but follow the kid, and hope he didn’t get picked off my bandits before Basque could catch him.

He followed the track for almost a day and a half before hitting the Saccado River. At this point, Bounty must have realized his navigational mistake because the trail veered north again. But he’d missed Wilson City completely.

Instead his trail led Basque to a little place called Jawbone Creek, a dusty town on one of Saccado’s tributaries nestled at the foot of the mountains near Jawbone pass. It was a stopover for merchants headed west, but much smaller than either Saccado or Wilson. This time of year, between trading seasons, it was even quieter. 

It was an unlikely spot for a banker, even one who was one the run. If Basque hadn’t followed him there, he would never have found Bounty.

Basque quickly discovered that the town had one Boarding House, and that Boarding House had a familiar roan horse in the stable.

Basque thanked his lucky stars and started putting together a plan. There would be no room for mistakes this time.

He waited until dark to make his approach, then sidled up to the place and walked right in the front door. The woman inside looked him up and down with contempt, so Basque flashed her his most charming smile.

It had no apparent effect.

“Evening,” she said guardedly.

Basque leaned casually on the front desk, the smile still plastered on his face. It was beginning to feel strained

“Evening miss,” he said as cheerfully as possible. “I’m hoping you can help me out. I think a friend of mine might be here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t give out personal information about my guests.”

Ah, so that was how it was going to be. Basque dug into his pocket and produced a coin, holding it up for her to see before sliding it across the table.

“I’d be very grateful,” he said, and nodded toward the coin in case there was any ambiguity about the fact that she was being bribed.

Jawbone Creek didn’t see many customers. He suspected she could use the extra cash. And indeed her eyes tracked the coin as he held it out. She hesitated only a moment, then took it. Her movement was quick and fugitive. “What’s your friend’s name?”

Basque’s smile widened.

“Well-dressed banker type,” he said. “Goes by ‘Smith.’”

“Room 10,” she said without hesitation, and then turned away from him.

The place was nearly empty. Bounty’s was one of four private quarters, and none of the others had people in them.

Well, some luck for Basque then. He figured he was due.

The door was closed at room 10. But Basque could hear the faint sounds of a man moving around inside.

Basque waited for a few minutes, then returned to the front of the establishment.

“I’ll need a room too, I suppose,” he said to the woman. “One of the bunks.”

As he paid, the woman eyed him suspiciously.

“No trouble here,” she said darkly as she passed over the keys. Basque smiled as charmingly as he could manage.

“No ma’am,” he agreed. “The last thing I want is trouble.” This, he thought fervidly, was at least true.

She nodded, apparently satisfied, and Basque retreated to his bunk to wait.

It didn’t take too long.

Eventually, Bounty left his room and headed to the dining room. Basque could hear the jingle of keys as he carefully locked the door behind him.

Good. That meant he was coming back. 

As soon as his footsteps retreated down the hall, Basque moved. It was a moment’s work to pick Bounty’s lock and let himself in, locking the door behind him.

The room was sparse – much less ornate than the chambers he’d rented in Saccado. There was a large but plain bed, a tired-looked chair in the shadows next to the door, an end table, a cabinet with a few glasses, and a simple desk. Bounty’s few belongings were scattered around in disarray. A gun, Basque noticed with glee, had been taken apart for cleaning and was lying on the floor.

No nasty surprises this time.

Basque settled himself in the tired-looking chair in the shadows and waited for Bounty to come back.

~*~

Less than an hour later, the keys rattled at the door and Bounty entered. He had a bottle in his hand. He’d locked the door and was turning into the room before he caught sight of Basque’s shape in the shadows.

Basque smiled as realization crossed the boy’s face, and was quickly replaced with panic. He looked, for a second, extremely young and Basque felt a stab of pity, unexpected, for what he was about to do.

Bounty’s hand instinctively fumbled for the door again, but Basque’s hammer clicked and Bounty froze like a rabbit, his quick breath audible.

“Don’t even think about it.” Basque growled. The boy’s hand fell away from the knob. Loose fingers dropped the keys to the floor with a clatter.

“Come on in and empty your pockets where I can see them. I don’t want any surprises.”

There was a pause. And then Basque watched an amazing transformation take place.

Bounty collected himself more quickly than Basque thought possible. He didn’t immediately do as ordered, instead peering into the shadows at Basque. His breath was still loud and fast, but slowly calming.

“Who are you?” His voice was a little harsh, but contained as much curiosity as fear. Basque stood up, so Bounty could see him. He was a big man, and had he satisfaction of watching Bounty’s eyes widen as he looked up…and up.

“Are you…”

Lots of questions, from this one. But Basque could guess what was coming next.

“Yes,” said Basque somewhat churlishly. “Its me. Bounty-hunter extraordinaire and the poor fool you clocked in the face a few days ago in Saccado. Pleasure to meet you. No funny business this time, please. I specifically told our propertier I wouldn’t cause any trouble and I mean to keep my word.”

Bounty swallowed nervously, his eyes huge, and Basque’s eyes fixed unconsciously on the bob of his Adam’s apple.

He couldn’t help it really. Basque had always liked a man in a suit, and Bounty was inordinately good looking. His hair was more disheveled than it had been in Saccado, face flushed with surprise, and he had dirt on his cheek. It was almost charming.

The corner of Basque’s lip curled up in an unconscious leer before he could stop himself.

Bounty noticed.

Basque could tell, because something in his expression changed. A little less fear. Sudden recognition. Assurance.

_What’s this then?_

“Sure,” Bounty said a bit distantly. “Whatever you want.”

Then he held up the bottle in his hand. “Uh…would you…uh…like a drink?”

Basque laughed, surprised by the boldness of it.

Well, well, well…this kid really was more than he seemed. He raked his eyes over him again, enjoying the way this caused Bounty’s pretty little flush to deepen.

“Why the hell not. I’m not in a hurry. Empty your pockets first, though, if you please.”

Bounty’s eyes flicked to the gun in Basque’s hand, but Basque didn’t move as the other man stepped away from the door and into the room, making his way to the cabinet and turning his back to him as he pulled out the contents of his pockets. It wasn’t much. A few coins and a handkerchief. When he was done he spread his hands, wiggling long white fingers.

Then almost without pausing he pulled two tumblers from the shelf. Basque watched each deft movement carefully.

Bounty’s hands shook slightly as he poured dark liquor from the bottle into the tumbler, but otherwise he moved calmly and with control.

Basque was impressed. He was used to people begging for mercy. Offering him a drink a new experience.

“How’d you find me?” Bounty asked as he twisted the bottle open and poured clear liquor evenly into the tumblers.

Basque shrugged. “It wasn’t hard.” Then added, “would have been easier if you hadn’t stolen my horse.” He was unable to keep a touch of irritation out of his voice.

Bounty froze momentarily, halfway through re-corking the bottle.

 _He didn’t know it was my horse,_ Basque realized. He’d just taken the first exit he’d seen and it had happened to be Basque’s.

Lucky, lucky, lucky. 

“You didn’t lame him, I hope.”

Bounty turned, two glasses in his hand. His face was carefully blank. “No.” He said. Then began, “I didn’t realize…”

Basque cut him off. “Still have the contents of my saddle bags?”

The kid nodded mutely, and brought Basque his drink, still shaking a little, his eyes flicking nervously to the gun held lightly in Basque’s grip.

“Good.” Basque took the proffered drink with his free hand. When their fingers brushed, Bounty looked down, flushing again.

Basque ignored him and took a sip. It was a gin, crisp and flavourful. Probably expensive.

Bounty raised his eyes to Basque’s, and then raised his own glass in a half- salute. Basque watched his face thoughtfully.

 _He’s good at hiding his emotions,_ Basque thought. Probably a side effect of being a businessman. Besides the fear on his face when he’d first fund Basque in his room, he’d revealed nothing.

Now he stared boldly back at Basque with dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, red lips slightly parted, and cool shadows from the room’s single lamp playing over his skin.

He was, Basque thought again, extremely handsome. He sipped his drink again, rolling it over his tongue, keeping his gun raised.

“Good stuff,” he said, breaking the silence, which had stretched. “Where’d you get it?”

Bounty blinked slowly at him and didn’t answer. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked instead, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was Basque’s turn to blink. He’d been prepared for more banter, not direct questions. He frowned, annoyed at the way Bounty had turned the conversation.

“What do you think?” he asked irritably, and made a gesture with his gun.

“Drag you out of here, truss you up over the back of my damn roan, and take you back to Devil’s Glen.” He did some quick math. “We should be there by Friday.”

He noticed, somewhat absently, that he was feeling slightly light-headed. He must be more tired than he’d thought.

Just then, Bounty’s hand rose to the collar of his crisp white shirt. Casually, his eyes on Basque, he started unbuttoning it.

Basque didn’t know why, but he found his gaze fixed there. He watched, mesmerized as the shirt parted, revealing the long smooth column of Bounty’s next. But he didn’t stop there. Long fingers travelled down…and soon button after button was parting, revealing a muscular chest, smooth and pale in the lamplight, a flat stomach, the curving line of a hip. Basque bit his lip without realizing he was doing it.

“I meant…what are you going to do….before that.” Bounty’s voice was still quiet, but tinged with tension. Fear? Desire?

Basque didn’t know. He didn’t care. He swayed slightly on his feet as the shirt fell to floor and Bounty reached for the top of his pants.

_Lord have mercy…_

“You could have whatever you want from me,” the banker said coolly. “If there’s something you want…you know…you could do it…”

The gun in Basque’s hand wavered.

_What the hell…?_

“What are you doing?” he asked aloud, incredulous and suspicious all at once.

Bounty’s expression didn’t change, but he paused to meet Basque’s eyes with his own smouldering gaze.

“I’m…uh…seducing you?” Bounty said, as if it was obvious. Basque could have laughed, but he didn’t. He sounded so uncertain and yet…not.

Thankfully he didn’t go so far as to drop his pants, but after unbuttoning them left them hanging loose around his hips, dropping his hands to his sides so that Basque had a good view of his flat stomach and the light treasure trail where it disappeared under his waistband.

The kid had a strange tattoo – the outline of a little bird – above his hip. Basque felt himself drawn to it.

Drawn to _him_.

There was no denying Bounty was everything Basque liked in a lover. Exactly so, in fact. His uncertainty just added to the effect. It made want Basque want to take him in his arms and…

Basque realized, belatedly, that there were several things he wanted to do with Bounty and none of them involved trussing him up and throwing him over the back of his horse.

The situation was suddenly very, very confusing.

Basque took another sip of booze to steady his nerves, then he put his glass down on an end-table and wrapped a second hand around his gun to steady himself.

What was he thinking? This was craziness.

“Seducing me?” Basque repeated, stupidly. He couldn’t explain why, but his voice sounded sort of distant to his own ears. Like it belonged to someone else. He felt off centre. Wrong.

“Yes.” Bounty was walking toward him. He was beyond Basque’s gun before he realized what was happening.

That wasn’t like Basque. He normally reacted faster than that…but Bounty just pushed the muzzle of Basque’s gun aside, bold as fucking brass, and was suddenly right there, inches from the hunter, looking up at him with those gorgeous dark eyes, red lips parted slightly, breath coming fast and hot.

Basque stared down at him in total disbelief.

A small part of his brain was screaming at him. But it was small and very distant. He could feel the heat from that bare skin, so close to his own, and felt his body react despite himself.

His hands went limp, and Basque’s gun clattered to the floor behind Bounty and the dark man flinched.

In hindsight, he was right to do so. The gun was cocked and could easily have gone off. But it didn’t, and Basque had other things on his mind. His fingers tangled in Bounty’s hair and he pulled their mouths together roughly, relishing Bounty’s little gasp of surprise and the way his hands flew to catch himself against Basque’s chest.

Basque’s mind was spinning as he felt Bounty begin to respond, kissing him back and grabbing Basque’s shirt. Basque’s free hand found the small of Bounty’s back and pulled the smaller man flush against him, feeling the hard lines of his body crushed against him.

So he wasn’t the only one with a libido.

Bounty made another small sound and Basque pulled back, gasping for air, and then put his mouth to the pale column of Bounty’s throat. He kissed him there hungrily and nipped at an exposed collarbone. He felt pleasure pour through him at the sight of Bounty’s eye’s fluttering closed, lips parted, head falling back to give him increased access.

But for some reason, even has Basque pulled their bodies tighter together, he felt distant…separated from reality…dizzy….

_Shit._

“You fucking drugged me.” Realization hit him hard, like a punch in the gut.

He tried to push himself away from Bounty, but it was too late. He was collapsing.

He could feel Bounty gripping his shirt, trying to keep from getting dragged down with him. They were both stumbling, tangled up.

The gin. It must have been in the fucking gin. The way he’d watched him sip…he’d never taken a sip himself…

The world was darkening too quickly, but Basque fought back.

“You bastard…you fucking…” Distantly, he heard Bounty say something. But he was too far gone to hear it. Basque collapsed on the floor of the boarding house, unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”

Bounty felt the effects of the opioid on his body even as he fell, tangled in the big hunter. They hit the floor with a crash. If that didn’t bring the landlady running…

Bounty fought opiate-induced dizziness and pulled frantically out of Basque’s loose grasp. The hunter was unconscious, thankfully. And the adrenaline spike that hit Bounty like a freight train as they fell helped clear his head a little.

But he’d _definitely_ gotten some of what had been in the hunter’s mouth.

 _He_ kissed _me,_ Bounty thought, disbelieving. _Oh hell, why did he have to kiss me?_

No, it was worse than that.

Bounty had kissed him back.

He let out a small noise of distress. Yes, for a second there, he’d forgotten about the drug, forgotten about the danger, forgotten about the _goddamned bounty on his head_. Basque’s touch had momentarily wiped everything from his mind, and desire, real desire, had taken over.

 _Fuck_.

It was lucky that the big blonde man had crumpled like a ragdoll, bringing them both back to reality, before Bounty could take it any further.

Jesus, what had he been thinking?

The memory of Basque’s collapse was enough to send another sobering shudder of horror through Bounty. Bounty remembered the moment realization of what was happening had dawned on Basque’s face – the way his eyes had narrowed and his muscles tightened and the echoing stab of fear it had sent through Bounty, who had thought, for a second, that this was it. Thought his gamble had failed. Had thought _and now I’m dead_.

But then the intensity had gone out of those icy eyes and Basque had gone down. Hard. Taking Bounty, utter fool that he was, down with him.

Bounty risked a quick glance at Basque and wondered absently if he’d correctly the amount of drug he’d needed. If it had been too little Basque might wake up any minute. If it had been too much, he might not wake up at all.

No time to worry about it now.

He struggled to his feet, breathing hard, eyes darting to the door (which no one, thankfully, came bursting through).

Bounty had intended to buy himself some time with this little stunt, and now he needed to use it. He shook off the remaining threads of fog from his brain and tried to focus. 

Before tonight he had known two things about the hunter.

One: He was the most dangerous person for a thousand miles in any direction.

Two: somehow he’d gotten Bounty’s name.

Now he knew two more. Basque liked men, and he was a surprisingly good kisser.

Bounty looked down at his adversary for another moment before turning somewhat unsteadily to start packing his things.

The truth was that he’d taken a rather large gamble on the whole seduction thing. It wasn’t really his style. Bounty was a banker. He didn’t have many cards in his hand, and he didn’t know what he was doing. So he’d winged it. He just knew he’d needed to buy himself some time, and that he’d needed to get a drink into the Hunter’s hand. Then he’d noticed that the way Basque had looked at him had been…good.

The rest had just come to him as he went.

Bounty finished shoving his belongings into saddle bags and turned to grab his gun. It was still lying in pieces on the table. He sighed.

Putting it together was hard.

His hands weren’t working right. He’d _definitely_ gotten more in his system than he’d bargained for.

_Because you let him kiss you, you idiot._

Bounty finished with his gun and stuffed it in his shirt before picking up his saddle-bags and heading for the door.

There he paused, hesitating. After a moment he put his bags back down again.

He should take the hunter’s gun.

He strode back into the room and picked up the discarded weapon from the floor. It was still cocked, and Bounty fumbled to put the safety back on before stuffing it in his shirt next to his own.

Then, as an afterthought, he went back to the hunter. His eyes raked the man’s body briefly, heart beating hard.

He looked so peaceful lying there. So harmless. His face was slack, hair disheveled. Bounty realized that if he was smart, he would kill the other man now.

It would certainly have put an end to some of his problems.

But even as he thought it, he dismissed it. Bounty was not a cold-blooded killer, much as recent evidence might suggest otherwise. Besides, he knew that as much as shooting the hunter would solve some problems, it would initiate a host of new and unpredictable ones. For one, the report would bring the landlady in for certain. And then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get away at all…

The thought of the landlady made him look around the untidy room. He found the discarded tumblers. They were both mercifully whole. He wiped them out and put it back on the shelf they had come from. Then he bustled around the room, straightening as he went.

 _Some habits die hard_ , he thought as he did. He’d always been fastidious.

After he finished he went quickly to Basque’s side again and knelt. Trying hard to not to think about what he was doing, he rifled through the hunter’s pockets. He found a satchel with some cash, and, after a second’s hesitation, pocketed it.

This done, he felt strangely pleased with himself. Maybe he was getting used to this while outlaw thing.

Satisfied with the state of the room, he turned to the door. He didn’t know how long the drug would work for, but he hoped it would last long enough to give him a good head start.

~*~

Basque regained consciousness slowly.

His first thought was that it was extremely bright. His second was head was throbbing and his third was that his body felt like it had been in a fight. His tongue was thick and swollen in his mouth. He groaned and pulled his arm over his eyes, trying to block out the light.

At that moment memories came trickling back to him – Bounty’s dark gaze, the fear back in them as they fell together.

The taste of his mouth. The way his body had shuddered under Basque’s fingers…

“You fucking bastard.” Basque knew he was saying it to an empty room but he felt it needed to be said anyway.

Well. This was a first.

Plenty of bounties had slipped through Basque’s fingers over the years – through trickery or luck or some combination of the two.

None had ever done it twice. And definitely none had ever used _that_ particular trick.

Basque cursed quietly under his breath a few more times, and then rolled himself over into a painful ball on the floor.

What the fuck had he been thinking. Mace said dead or alive. He should have shot the kid as soon as he’d come back into the room. It was a better end than whatever Mace was going to do with him, and disposing of a body couldn’t be _that_ complicated way the fuck out here.

And even if he hadn’t gone _that_ far - what the fuck had he been thinking, accepting that drink? He should have known the kid had a plan as soon as his face had gone all calm like that.

The rest of it Basque couldn’t be held accountable for.

He’d been drugged.

Bounty was hot.

He couldn’t be blamed for giving in, under the circumstances.

Basque stayed curled up on the floor for a while longer, feeling sorry for himself. Eventually, thirst drove him to rise to his knees and, after waves of nausea passed, to his feet.

A quick assessment confirmed that Bounty’s rooms had been cleaned out completely. The gun had been put back together. Belongings packed. Tumblers cleaned and back in their cabinet. He’d even made the fucking bed.

Basque checked his pockets absently, and wasn’t surprised to find that the cash he’d been carrying was gone.

“fucking bastard…” Basque muttered under his breath.

The sun was high in the sky, meaning Basque had been out for at least twelve hours. Whatever he’d been given, it had been strong.

Basque let himself out of Bounty’s room and went back to his own. He found a skin of water and sat down on the edge of his bunk, drinking deeply.

“Everything alright?” It was the landlady, her hands on her hips, standing in the doorway. She was glaring at him, suspicious. Basque shook his head.

“Not really,” he answered. “When did my friend leave?”

She frowned disapprovingly at him. “Last night, around midnight,” she answered reluctantly. “He tried to take your horse, you know.” She sniffed. “I told you I didn’t want trouble.”

Basque winced.

“You didn’t let him take her, did you?”

“No.” She sniffed again. “Not without your permission. And he looked drunk.”

_Drunk, eh?_

Had he gotten a taste of his own medicine? Had their kiss been enough to give Bounty a dose of whatever he’d given Basque?

If that was the case, which Basque very much hoped that it was, it hadn’t stopped the son-of-a-bitch from _liking it_.

A small smile curled up the corner of Basque’s mouth at the memory of dark eyes fluttering closed, hot mouth responding to him hungrily...

“Check-out was an hour ago,” the landlady said testily, interrupting his reverie.

“Unless you’re paying for another night.”

Basque nodded, considered his state and said,

“I’ll stay another night.”

She opened her mouth again, but Basque interrupted her, holding up a placating hand.

“No trouble. I know. Don’t worry. Trouble rode away on a good roan horse last night. I won’t do anything but sleep.” She nodded, accepting this, and Basque dug into his saddlebags for the cash which, thankfully, Bounty had not thought to take.

When she had left, he collapsed back on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling.

_Third time’s the charm, right?_

~*~

Basque’s luck had run out. Unlike the last time Bounty had taken off on him, he had no idea what direction the banker had chosen. His day of recovery in Jawbone Creek had also given his target a considerable head start.

Combined with Bounty’s obvious intelligence, these advantages were enough to throw the hunter. It took Basque a week of roaming between small towns to figure out what direction the bastard had gone in.

Basque had blown through Mace’s deadline and was no closer to catching his target.

In fact, if anything he was further away because now Bounty knew he was coming. Knew his tricks. Knew what he looked like.

These realities made Basque grumpy for several reasons. Foremost because it would mean a difficult conversation with Mace when he got back, but also because it meant he now had competition on the trail.

Motivated competition. Competition who had _also_ been promised twenty-five thousand marks. Basque knew a lot of that competition personally, and didn’t like _any_ of them. 

To this point Basque’s instincts had served him well in his pursuit, and he was certain that as far away as Bounty seemed at the moment, Basque had several distinct advantages over his competition. These advantages did not, however, account for luck.

And Basque’s luck had run out.

He knew his too-clever-for-his-own-damn-good target had likely had time to think about Basque and his own strategies. He was likely, at this point, to switch things up. He was likely to want to put as much distance between them as possible.

So even once Basque had a direction, he knew it would be a long time before he saw Bounty again.

All of this would have been tolerable if he could have shaken off his damned libido.

Basque could not get Bounty out of his head, and the pursuit made it worse. Basque felt like he spent every second thinking about the other man as he tracked him. He tried to keep it professional but inevitably thoughts of Bounty led directly to that moment in his rooms. The moment _before_ he’d felt the opiates take effect. He could recall, with aching detail, that look of surprise on Bounty’s face, the little intake of breath, the way his head fell back in unexpected pleasure, the way their bodies pressed together…

Basque gritted his teeth and shook his head. It was wrong, a mark messing with his head like this. Basque felt the need to get it out of his system, but out here there was nothing he could do. Instead his mind tortured him, playing the scene over and over again, wondering how much of it had been planned or what would have happened if…if…

No. There was no if. He’d been careless and made a fool of. End of story.

Basque resupplied Wilson City and began riding slowly north, stopping periodically at towns and settlements to make sure he was on the right track.

Bounty turned east into the mountains after two days of riding. A prospector coming out of the hills from that direction had seen him, several days ago, and had wondered where he was headed with so few supplies. Empty saddle-bags, the prospector said, irritably. Didn’t the idiot know there was nothing out there?

The news made Basque perk up.

Either Bounty underestimated his needs, or what he’d taken from Basque’s pockets in Jawbone Creek hadn’t gotten him very far. Maybe both.

The country was rougher in the north. There were more trees and it was a lot less populated. The roads became tracks, more or less maintained depending on frequency of use. There were prospectors out here, and some big ranches, but not much else. The towns were rough, ramshackle, and fiercely independent. They were well beyond Mace’s administrative reach.

Indeed, Basque reflected, Bounty was not “wanted” here.

He might have even been safe if it wasn’t for Basque.

~*~ 

Bounty was lost.

It took him several days to come to terms with this fact. He’d thought he was heading north, but if that had been the case he would have hit civilization by now. Instead the ranches were getting smaller and the country more mountainous. He must have gone wrong somewhere, but he didn’t know at what point.

The road hooked steadily east, pulling him further off track. Bounty would have turned around, but he was afraid that would mean running right into his hunter. The thought of the big blonde man on his tail, an unknown number of kilometres behind him, drove him onward.

Once he came to terms with the fact that he was lost, and dangerously low on supplies, he gave the roan his head, letting the big horse pick their route. A horse would, in theory, go to food.

After almost a full day of plodding through indistinct trees down a road that was little more than parallel tracks, the horse indeed took him to a little ranch. A suspicious and unfriendly rancher met him on the front porch of the house, gun in hand.

Bounty used the last of the hunter’s money to buy a little food and water, ask directions, and rest his animal.

Bounty left as quickly as he could, unnerved by the rancher’s suspicion. He took the time, however, to ask about nearby towns. The rancher raised a knarled finger and pointed east. There was a small town another three days up the road. He could resupply there. And yes, the man confirmed, warily, there was a post-office.

Bounty knew that contacting his family was risky, but at this point he didn’t have much choice. He needed help. Money, at the very least, and probably also refuge. If he didn’t get help, he was going to die – either from starvation or at the hands of his hunter.

Or, he thought grimly, coyotes.

He heard them howling every night, drawn by the smell of his horse.

His food and water would only last him a day before he was out again.

The fact of the matter that was that Bounty did not know how to survive in the woods. The last two weeks or so aside, he had only ever understood sleeping under the stars in an abstract sense: As something other people did, because they couldn’t afford or were not close to a road house. When he’d taken up with the smugglers he’d let other people do things like start the fire and cook the food. Now he cursed himself for not paying closer attention to how those tasks got done.

As he rode he thought longingly of his uncle’s grand house. It had been his original plan to flee there. The northern cities were civilized – well beyond the frontier justice that rules at places like Devil’s Glenn. He had made arrangements to travel with the smugglers as far north as they would take him, and then to go on alone from there. It would only have been a few days ride and he would have been safe. His uncle would have protected him. He was an officer, and knew the governor personally. No matter what rumours Mace had spread about what Bounty had done, no one in the north would believe them. Bounty would have been safe.

If only things had gone according to plan.

But things had not gone according to plan. Nothing had done according to plan for him, he felt, since that night when he’d picked up his gun and gone into the night, full of rage and a sense of injustice…

So it was that he found himself in the saddle past midnight, riding on toward a tiny town in the mountains without a penny to his name. Out of food and too afraid to sleep.

Travelling through the night at least meant he arrived earlier than anticipated – as sun was setting on the second day, Bounty saw the lights ahead of him and perked up, urging the tired roan on. He was starving and exhausted, and any sign of life was a welcome relief.

The farmer’s description had made him imagine a little city with a market and houses and hotels.

Instead he found little more than a single street, lined on both sides by houses and a few ramshackle businesses.

No one was out this late at night, except a few men smoking outside the single saloon. Faint music played from inside, echoing in the darkness. They eyed him as he passed.

Not many strangers around here, if Bounty had to guess. He stayed away from the men, and tried to keep himself hidden in the shadows.

Bounty stopped in front of the town’s general store and tied up the roan.

It was at that moment that he realized he hadn’t thought things through.

He was so tired, it hadn’t even occurred to him that arriving at the town would fail to solve his problems. The shop was shut tight, but it would not have mattered either way.

He didn’t have money to buy anything anyway.

He stared up at the store’s closed facade in resignation.

The only thing that was different between this night and the night before was that he would be sleeping on the street instead of in the dirt.

At least there were no coyotes.

He looked at the roan who placidly watched him back from his place at the hitch. The horse was tired too. There had not been much time to stop and rest him over the last few days.

Bounty wondered how much he could get for the animal if he tried to sell him. It might be enough to get him through until help came…

The thought of being without a horse made him feel panicky. What if he had to run again? Besides, who the hell was going to buy a horse around here?

He was hungry and tired. He needed food _now._

He looked back up at the general store, and then back around him at the street. It was empty and quiet.

Very quiet.

No one could see him here.

Come to think of it, the place probably had a back door. Would anyone notice if he slipped in? There was probably a loaf of the day’s bread still there, or some jerky.

Bounty had never stolen anything in his life – with the exception of Basque’s horse, gun, and money, but those didn’t count.

Breaking in to the general store felt wrong. But at the moment Bounty didn’t feel like there was much an alternative.

Bounty left the road and slipped around the back of the big building, footsteps quiet in the night. He’d never thought of himself as capable of theft, but things had changed over the past few weeks. He was realizing he was capable of things he had never even dreamed of.

The thought brought a sudden wave nausea, and Bounty stopped, hands pressed to his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was the hunger or the memories of that night at Tommy’s. The gun…the look in their eyes…

 _No. Not now._ He needed to focus.

There was a door – a small wooden one. Bounty looked around carefully before trying it. It was unlocked. _Small towns,_ he thought to himself, _so trusting._

He entered quietly.

He left the door open to let in some light and waited for his eyes to adjust. He was in a small back storage room. There were boxes around him. He checked a few, but they seemed to contain mostly miners’ tools. He edged further into the shop.

Inside, closer to the windows, he found what he was looking for. Hardtack, bread, cheese wrapped in wax, and cans of preserves. He picked his way forward, careful to avoid bumping into anything in the dim light.

Suddenly, he heard a noise coming from the back of the shop, where he’d entered.

He spun, but it was too late.

A man was standing there, a lantern held high. The light flooded the shop. Bounty blinked as he was momentarily blinded.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the man drawled. The voice was unfamiliar. Bounty squinted, trying to see who confronted him.

He could see multiple shapes, now, in the darkness of the shop.

“I’m just…” he started.

“Helping yourself to the goods in Elinor’s shop?”

Bounty could hardly deny this. “It was closed…” he said weakly, “I’ve been on the road for a long time…I need food. I can pay…”

The stranger appeared unmoved by this. Bounty could see now that he was holding a gun.

“Don’t make any sudden moves, thief,” the man said. Bounty’s heart sank.

“I’m not a thief.”

The man scoffed. “Sure. You can tell your story to the constables in the morning, kid. Now put your hands where I can see them.”

Bounty felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. he was so tired….so tired of running.

Well there would be no running now. The men were blocking the only exit.

He put his hands out in front of him, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. The man with the gun gestured, and two others came into the room, grabbing his wrists roughly.

“Check him for weapons.” They frisked him briefly, found his gun and pulled it out to show their leader, who was striding into the shop, coming closer to Bounty.

He was a big man. Heavy and grizzled. As he came closer, Bounty saw the details of a craggy face, turned down mouth, and heavy brow. Fear knotted in his gut.

“Look,” he tried again, voice weary, “this is a misunderstanding, I’m sure if we just…”

The man hit him. Hard.

Bounty had not seen it coming.

He used the butt of his gun, and it connected sharply with Bounty’s temple. Stars exploded in Bounty’s vision.

He heard the man growl something else, but couldn’t make it out over the ringing of his ears.

“What?” He asked muzzily.

It was the wrong thing to say. Another strike came at him, connected hard with his stomach.

Bounty doubled over.

But the man wasn’t done. A knee connected his nose, and then another fist in his face. He cried out wordlessly, struggling to back away. Bounty felt hot blood flowing from his nose and blackness encroaching on his vision.

Then the gun connected with his temple a second time and Bounty collapsed, unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

After two weeks of searching, Basque thought he might be getting close again.

The roan’s trail was relatively fresh. Just the night before an unfriendly rancher moving cattle said he’d seen some kid headed for Pine Hills in the gathering dusk – alone, he said, and slumped on a tired roan horse.

Who else could _that_ be?

Basque entered the little town of Pine Hills in the heat of the midday sun. It was a decently sized place – bigger than anything he’d seen in days, which had mostly been clusters of ranch houses.

At midday it was quiet and stifling hot. No one was around – most would be out working on the surrounding hills and the rest were hiding in the shade. Basque wandered up the main street alone and unquestioned, keeping half an eye out for a roan horse and the other half for a boarding house.

Instead he found Bounty.

He didn’t recognize him at first. His horse entered the central plaza and stopped. Basque had been casually scanning the plaza edges, and now his gaze fell on a figure at the centre of the square. Te victim, Basque knew instinctually, of small-town justice. He was alone and stripped to the waist, arms tied tightly behind him to a central pole. His head was down, and the hot sun beat down on red shoulders. Unruly hair fell over his face, obscuring it. The sight made Basque shift uncomfortably. A man put out at stockade was a sure sign of overzealous law-enforcement. Basque didn’t want any trouble.

Then he looked closer and recognized him. He had, after all, just spent a couple of long weeks replaying everything he’d seen of the man, and, if he was honest, imagining what he hadn’t.

 _Bounty_.

His hands tightened on the black mare’s reins, causing her to snort and flick her ears at him irritably. He felt adrenaline spike through him as he assessed the situation. .

Bounty. Trussed up like a gift and…left there? Did those idiots not know how _valuable_ he was?

…Or was it a trap?

Basque looked around quickly. There was no one else in the square. Whatever he was being punished for, they clearly weren’t too worried about him escaping.

Basque swung down from the black mare, wrapped her reins around a post, and made his way quickly across the cobble-stones, alert and head up.

Bounty wasn’t moving, and for a terrifying moment Basque wondered if he was dead. But then as he got closer he could see shuddering breaths made his back rise and fall. Slow but steady.

Then he saw Bounty’s back.

_Oh my god._

He’d been whipped. Deep lacerations sliced across the blistered red flesh of his back. Basque froze mid step, shocked at the brutality of it.

Flies were settling there, but Bounty didn’t even twitch when they landed on him.

_Not good._

A confusing collection of emotions rose in Basque. Strongest of all, anger. Bounty _could_ have died, damnit. Then where would Basque be? Stuck dragging a body back to Devil’s Glen, that’s where. He let out a soft curse and closed the distance between them.

Basque knelt, his shadow falling over the smaller man, and looked into his face. It was bruised. Eyes were open, but barely. One was very swollen. He was looking at the ground, breathing between parted lips.

Basque reached out and placed a finger under Bounty’s chin to lift his face.

Bounty’s eyes did not register surprise. Only fear.

The sight of it made Basque’s stomach drop. He felt another confusing wash of emotions cascade through him.

Its not that Basque wasn’t used to striking fear into the hearts of wanted men.

 _This_ was different. _This_ was animal. Bounty’s dark pupils were dilated to huge wells, lips were swollen and blistered, and his breath rasped as it picked up speed. He was trying to focus on Basque’s face and failing..

“Me again,” the Hunter said softly. If Basque was honest with himself, he had fantasised about this moment several times over the past two weeks. He had imagined himself mocking and triumphant as he confronted his prey for the third and (he was determined) final time.

But rather than smug, as he had imagined it, his voice came out gentle. Like he was talking to a spooked animal.

Well, nothing for it. He set his jaw and drew his knife.

Bounty flinched, drawing back suddenly and painfully away from him.

“Relax,” Basque said irritably. “I’m cutting you down.”

He went to work quickly, severing the ropes around Bounty’s wrists. The skin had been rubbed raw and bleeding.

_He fought._

Freed from his restraints, Bounty sagged but did not move. He was limp and exhausted. Basque looked down at him, assessing.

Just like this tricky bastard to deny Basque even the simple pleasure of being able to gloat by getting himself captured and almost killed. Now there were a host of new problems to be faced. Possible repercussion from overzealous law enforcement. Getting the two of them out of there. Dealing with a very injured and very helpless young man.

“Don’t suppose you know what they did with my damn horse,” Basque asked without much hope. Predictably, there was no response. 

Well, what the fuck was he going to do now?

First things first.

He went back to his horse, and dug in his saddlebags until he found a skin of water. Then he returned to Bounty, kneeling before him, and put his hand under the other man’s chin. He lifted Bounty’s face with one hand on his jaw, pressing the mouth of the bottle to Bounty’s swollen lips.

Bounty’s body tensed at his touch, but he was in no shape to argue. He drank when Basque tipped water into his mouth. When it started to run down his chin, Basque pulled back.

Bounty’s eyes met his for the first time, focusing, briefly, on his face. He looked confused.

“What…” his voice was raspy.

Basque recapped the bottle and stood.

“We’ve been over this. The plan hasn’t changed banker-boy. You’ve caused me enough trouble as it is.” He was trying to be brash, but his heart was pounding and instead he sounded vaguely worried.

“Now you’re going to have to get up, so I can put you on the horse. Then we’re getting out of here. I suspect you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

At this Basque looked around to see if anyone was going to try to make a move while he’d been playing nursemaid. It didn’t seem like it.

“Its not like you’ve got any better options at this particular moment,” Basque added, pointedly.

Bounty didn’t respond, but when Basque wrapped his arms under his shoulder to pull him to his feet, he tried his best to cooperate. 

Getting him on the mare was harder. By the time Bounty was slumped over the saddle the sun had begun to lower, and Basque heard the slamming of doors as people began moving about. He pulled a blanket out of his saddlebag and threw it over Bounty’s ruined shoulders.

Bounty clutched at it, pulling it around his thin frame. Basque couldn’t help the stab of pity in his stomach.

Basque was turning to lead the mare out of the square when trouble showed up, right on cue.

Three people stood in his path, guns on their hips and surly expressions on their faces. The makeshift police force, if Basque was any judge.

They were talking quietly to themselves as Basque turned, but shut up when they saw he’d seen them. Basque nonchalantly rested his hand on the (replacement) weapon at his hip. He’d bought back it in Wilson City after Bounty had made off with his original.

“Don’t mind if I take this off your hands, do you?” He asked, gesturing to Bounty and doing his best to sound cheery and unaffected.

They eyed him defensively, as if sensing his disapproval.

“He got what was coming to him.” One of the bigger men answered. He was burly and bearded and looked rough around the edges.

“What is he to you?” This came from one of the others. No defensiveness there. Just hostility. 

Basque shrugged at the question and chose not to answer directly.

“He’s upset a friend of mine,” he said vaguely. “My friend wants to talk to him about it.”

“We caught ‘im stealing,” the last of the three volunteered, spitting as he said it. He was angry. The big man who had spoken first glared, but his lacky ignored him. “though he could help himself to the dry goods in the general store. Not in our town, we told im. Caught im red handed, like a fox in the chicken house.”

“So you whipped him.” Basque was surprised at himself. He hadn’t meant to say it. He also hadn’t meant for it to come out flat and angry. Fortunately, no one noticed. The chatty guy nodded grimly.

“That’s the punishment for stealing,” he said. “Can’t have strangers coming in here helping themselves whenever they please.”

“And his belongings?” Basque asked, his voice cold. “I have reason to believe he had a roan horse. A good one. And a gun.”

There was an awkward silence. All three stared at him flatly.

“Don’t know anything about that,” said the big one eventually. He eyed Basque, daring him to question him.

Basque eyed him right back. Sure you don’t, big boy. 

“Too bad.” Basque said instead.

The fact was that there was no way he was getting anything back from them. He’d just have to cut his losses. It would all be worth it if he could get his Bounty back to Devil’s Glen. What he’d paid for his horse and goods was a drop in the bucket of twenty-five thousand marks.

He should count his blessings that these fools didn’t know what their captive was really worth.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then,” he said, and nodded politely. 

The big man nodded and then the three of them stepped back, making space for him to pass. B

Basque felt their eyes crawling up his back the whole way down the road, until they turned a corner and lost them beyond a mudwalled house.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and glanced back.

Bounty stayed slumped in the saddle, swaying lightly, impervious.

~*~

They stopped after midnight, somewhere deep in the mountains south of civilization.

It was a good spot in a little copse of pines on the bank of a river. The moon was bright enough to provide light for Basque to set up camp. Basque had followed the river, rather than the road. He figured it gave them a better chance of avoiding any unwelcome company, in case Pine Flats’ bully squad changed their mind about letting him go.

This was unfamiliar country to Basque. Well off the road he did not know precisely where he was. He suspected the little river was some distant tributary of the Saccado, and if that were true they would meet up with the main road in a week or so. Provided Bounty healed, and could do a little walking of his own.

Bounty was still slack in the saddle. Basque wasn’t sure, but he thought he was unconscious. He put a hand on the man’s leg and got no response.

Well, nothing for it then. He reached up and wrapped an arm around the other man’s waist, pulling him down as gently as he could. Bounty was surprisingly light, but Basque still stumbled as he took the man’s weight into his arms and set him down on the pine-needled earth next to the horse.

Bounty was breathing lightly, and starting to shiver, the blanket still held tightly around him

Basque left him on the ground while he pulled hobbles out of the saddlebags and took care of his horse, unbuckling the saddle and setting it aside. There was a patch of grass on the river bank, where the black mare quickly set to grazing. The cool air quickly filled with the smell of sweet fresh-cut grass.

The horse dealt with, set up blankets and dug out food and water, watching Bounty from the corner of his eye. He suspected Bounty was suffering from severe dehydration, coupled with shock and the early stages of an infection in his open lashes. He wanted to make some hot water to wash those wounds before things got worse. But a fire would be foolish this close to town, after all the work Basque had done to stay out of sight.

When he’d finished setting up their simple camp he crouched before Bounty, putting a hand on his chin again to guide his face upwards.

“You awake?”

Bounty’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Basque sighed. Then he hooked his hands under the other man’s arms, dragging him closer to the fire, where he’d laid of a blanket for him. When he’d got him positioned he tried to pull the blanket from Bounty’s shoulders, but the other man gripped it tightly.

“Let go,” Basque ordered. Then, more gently added “I need to have a look.”

Bounty obeyed, white fingers slowly unclenching. When his grip had loosened Basque pulled the blanket fully away, revealing torn flesh.

Basque knelt over Bounty carefully, running fingers lightly around the edges of the wounds, where the white skin was still whole.

Bounty flinched under the touch.

“You weren’t counting on this, were you?” Basque asked softly, and before he could help himself.

Bounty didn’t answer, but Basque could see his breath coming shallow and fast. Responsive then, even if he wasn’t talking.

“I’m going to clean it.”

There was no response, so Basque set about gathering what he needed. Water from the river. The discarded blanket. A little flask of alcohol. As he returned to Bounty’s side he saw that the other man was watching him now, his head turned to the side, dark eyes huge in the semi-darkness.

“How bad is it?” Bounty asked. The question was raspy and quiet, but Basque was privately relieved to see him semi-coherent.

“It’ll be fine, but if I don’t clean it up it’ll get infected.” Basque pushed the flask into Bounty’s hand.

“Take a sip of this. It might help with the pain.” Bounty’s obeyed him, taking the flask with a shaking hand and tipping it back. Basque watched him.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t drug it.” He said sarcastically, after a moment. Bounty did not respond, passing the flask back to Basque mutely.

The hunter got to work.

He ripped the blanket into strips and dipped it into the icy water from the river before pressing it to Bounty’s ruined back.

The man hissed and tensed as Basque let the water run over his body, turning dark and dirty with blood as it trickled down his ribs into the forest floor. Basque took his time, moving carefully. There were three stripes, overlapping, wrapping over the back of Bounty’s ribs and across his spine.

“Three times,” he observed, mostly to himself. “I guess that’s what passes for justice out here.”

He tried not to sound bitter. Out here, beyond the control of the urban centre, power collected in the hands of bullies. Basque had been on the receiving end of small-town justice himself, once or twice.

Bounty was tight and shaking with the effort of staying still and silent under the pain.

“I can’t stitch these,” Basque told him, when he had finished. His medical kit had been in his saddle bags, and he hadn’t replaced it yet. “Someone stole my supplies.”

His gruff rebuke provoked no response, so Basque turned his attention to Bounty’s hands and arms, talking the long fingers with his own and pulling them open one at a time so that he could wash away the dust and rinse the raw spots where the ropes had broken skin. 

As he finished and set down his rags he found his eyes drawn down to the little bird tattoo, just barely visible on Bounty’s hip. It looked like a sparrow, perfect in every detail, and it fixed him with a gentle eye.

“I’ll use the alcohol to clean what’s open,” he said, still studying the sparrow. “Then wrap it. You’ll have scars, but you’ll be fine.”

Bounty didn’t respond, but he did turn his head to look at Basque, eyes unreadable.

Basque went back to the saddle bags and pulled out their second blanket, tearing it into long strips. Then he picked up the flask.

“Sit up.” Bounty tried to obey him, but Basque had to help. His chest was covered with pine needles and watery blood, which had dripped under his body when Basque washed his back. Basque crouched in front of him, pushing a rag into his hand.

“Brush it off,” he said gruffly. Bounty did, weakly.

When he was mostly clean, Basque dripped the alcohol carefully over the worst of the abrasions. Bounty flinched the first time, but then held still and tense while Basque worked, trying to make the most of his limited supply.

When he was finally done, Basque began expertly wrapping Bounty’s torso with long strips of clean blanket, his movements quick and brusque.

 _This is definitely a first,_ Basque thought as his arms circled the body of his unresisting patient.

Caring for someone _else’s_ wounds was not something he’d done for a long time, let _alone_ caring for the wounds of someone he’d been paid to hunt down for money. Yet here he was tenderly wrapping his target’s wounds with pieces of a blanket that might otherwise have kept him warm on a cool desert night.

What was he thinking?

Then again, this was a unique situation. Most of Basque’s targets were a straightforward grab, truss, and deliver. None had given him any pause, because they had spent most of their waking hours cursing, threatening, or trying to kill him. Nor had they been in his custody long. It didn’t _normally_ take Basque more than a week to track down a target, and he’d never faced the prospect of more than a day’s journey to get them where they needed to go.

For this reason, the morality of Basque’s occupation had never particularly bothered him.

People did not normally earn a bounty on their head for nothing. It had always, in Basque’s experience, been relatively well deserved and the targets he dealt with had always been fairly straightforward cases of evil. It was not difficult to ignore the pain of a rapist or killer as you packed him back to face justice. Especially if he was clearly just waiting for his opportunity to get you first.

Bounty was not a straightforward case of evil.

Even when he remembered that Bounty had punched him in the face, stolen his horse, and poisoned him, he couldn’t bring himself to be convinced that the other man deserved to suffer.

He’d had opportunities to kill Basque, and hadn’t. In fact, he seemed mostly inept at being an outlaw.

And in this particular moment, he was helpless and injured. Nothing in Basque’s experience had prepared him for a bounty that was helpless and injured. His instincts made him want to help.

The fact that _Mace_ was the contractor in this case added an additional layer of moral ambiguity to the situation. Because if anyone was a straightforward case of evil it was that guy.

Basque searched inside himself for some kind of reasoning or justification for his behaviour and came up empty handed.

Basque had sold Bounty’s life for twenty-five thousand marks. There was little question that he would be killed almost as soon as he was passed back over to Mace.

So why the hell was Basque wasting his time patching his wounds like a worried mother hen? Why did he feel _worried_? Why had he been so angry when he’d found out a bunch of small-town bullies had done _exactly what Mace was going to do_ when they got back to Devil’s Glen?

He suppressed, with some difficulty, the taunting voice in his head that reminded him of the way his body had responded to Bounty in those moments before he’d realized he’d been poisoned.

Was he really such a sucker for a pretty face?

No, it had been the drugs working on him, nothing else.

In the end, Basque resorted to weak logic. If those cuts got infected, Bounty would certainly get sick. Then he would be more expensive and more difficult to transport.

Sure, Mace had said dead or alive – but the fact was that “alive” was currently more convenient for Basque. Under this line of thinking, Basque’s actions could be interpreted as purely self-interested.

Basque eyed his captive, trying to make this interpretation stick and mostly failing.

It would be easier, he thought, if he knew what _exactly_ Bounty had done to ear Mace’s ire. Meera’s info wasn’t enough to go on. He’d killed six people, sure, but why? What had happened? He was smart, and tricky. He didn’t seem like the type to kill in cold blood. There had to be a motive. It didn’t add up.

Then again, he didn’t seem like the type to be on a wanted poster, hole up with smugglers, steal a horse, or drug and seduce someone.

_And yet here we are._

Well, they had a long road back to Devil’s Glen. Maybe they’d have time to talk. Maybe Basque would learn something that would make things clearer.

“You should sleep,” he advised Bounty when he had finished his wrap job. “If you’re warm enough, you can stay right here.”

He was still muzzy, but more responsive than he had been when Basque had pulled him off the horse earlier.

“What about you?” Bounty croaked.

The question surprised Basque, and he huffed a laugh.

“Oh I won’t be sleeping, kid,” Basque said softly, smiling. “I don’t trust you _that_ much.”

Bounty seemed to accept this and lowered himself carefully, stretching his long legs toward the fire. Basque helped him as much as he could. The boy’s eyelids were already drooping.

Bounty settled, Basque made a quick slip knot with the mare’s reins and slipped it over his charge’s unresisting hands, tightening it. He did the same to his ankles.

As he did so, he noticed how strange those fine hands looked tied up like a common criminal. Several weeks in the bush hasn’t hardened him much. He might look a little rough around the edges, but he was still a gentleman. A very lost very hurt gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless.

Basque retreated, settled his back against the mare’s saddle and looped the end of a rein over his palm. If the kid moved at all, he’d feel it. He loosened his gun in his holster for quick access and settled down, noticing the clear stars above him.

 _Well, you’ve done it_ , Basque congratulated himself. His inner voice sounded annoyingly ambivalent about it, though.

Third time had indeed proved the charm. But what the hell had he gotten himself into?


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning Bounty’s his eyes were more focused and he was able to sit up on his own.

Basque brought him bread and cheese and water from the pack while he collected the mare from where she had wandered along the river bank.

Bounty ate awkwardly with his hands bound by the leather rein. He watched Basque carefully the whole time. He seemed calm. Not scared, but analyzing. Basque struggled to act nonchalant under his gaze.

“Where are we going?” Bounty asked eventually from his place on the ground, apparently unable to keep silent any longer.

Basque was saddling the mare, and paused in his work, surprised. It was not a question he had been prepared for. Bounty knew the answer - was he really going to make him spell it out again? The impetuousness of it went straight under his skin. As if Basque was the young gentleman’s escort across the desert, and not the hunter dragging him home to face justice.

 _Right, because rescuing he man from small town justice, washing his wounds, and tucking him in to sleep last night are the actions of a hunter_ a little voice needled at him.

Basque slammed the door down on that thought and elected to say nothing. His inner turmoil momentarily quashed, he continued his work settling the saddle on the mare’s back and tightening the girth.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind, then?” Bounty added, as the silence stretched.

Basque ground his teeth. Could the man not take a hint? He turned to look at him, irritated.

“Got forty-thousand marks lying around?”

Bounty frowned. “Mace is only paying twenty-five.”

Basque laughed aloud.

He couldn’t help it. It tickled him to think that Bounty knew how much was on his head, and had the wherewithal to be affronted a Basque’s counter-offer. He was a bold one, no doubt about that.

“There’s a mark up for the inconvenience associated with betraying the sheriff,” Basque answered, once he’d recovered. “You think the old man would just let something like that slide?”

Sullen silence greeted this and Bounty looked down at the ground, flushing slightly. Basque smiled ruefully to himself and finished with the mare.

When he turned back to Bounty, he was surprised to find the other man’s eyes narrowed in anger, the dark eyes sharp as daggers.

He paused, suddenly uncertain and slightly alarmed.

_Where did that come from?_

It troubled Basque that Bounty could do this to him. He was adept at hiding his true feelings. There was no doubt in Basque’s mind that that rage had been lying there under the mild questions the whole time.

And now…this was the first time Basque had seen strong emotion on the other man’s face – aside from the fear he’d seen briefly in the boarding house. It felt…real. Bounty suddenly seemed like a threat. Like he might try something.

He didn’t. Instead:

“Why didn’t you just kill me?” Bounty asked bitterly.

Basque smiled and relaxed a little bit. “I’ve been asking myself that same question all night.”

He walked toward the smaller man, intending to help him up, but Bounty struggled to his feet on his own, hindered by his bound wrists. Basque stopped a few feet away eyeing his captive warily.

This was a different Bounty than he’d dealt with yesterday. He would need to be handled carefully. His body radiated tension and maybe a little hatred.

Maybe, Basque thought hopefully, there would be some cursing and threatening? If Bounty started looking a little more like his usual target, it would certainly help clarify some of the serious moral questions Basque had been entertaining lately.

But Bounty said nothing. And he was still so weak. It was clear to Basque’s careful eye that even the effort of standing had cost him.

“You’ll ride the mare. I’ll walk.” Basque said shortly, gesturing to the waiting saddle.

“Don’t bolt. I can shoot you at a hundred yards, and a dead Bounty is still a bounty.”

He smiled a little at his own cleverness and touched the gun at his hip for emphasis.

Bounty walked stiffly to the mare, cold and angry. Basque watched speculatively. Bounty had the bearing of a gentleman. If it hadn’t been for the setting, Basque might feel like he had just had the misfortune of offending one of his betters.

Faced with the prospect of mounting the horse, however, Bounty’s cold dignity crumbled. He couldn’t climb into the saddle with his hands tied. He turned to Basque, a helpless question on his lips.

But Basque was already moving toward him. He didn’t pause, wrapping big hands around Bounty’s hips, and unceremoniously hoisting the other man over the mare’s back.

Bounty was smaller than Basque, and light. But it still wasn’t elegant. Bounty struggled to get his leg over, grasping desperately at the mare’s mane.

Basque could see blood seeping through his makeshift bandages and pressed his lips together, worried again. Once in the saddle, Bounty slumped forward in a posture not unlike his semi-conscious state from yesterday.

Basque’s hand stayed, steadying, on Bounty’s thigh, worried that if he removed it the young man would slide from the mare’s back.

_Well…so much for clarity._

~*~

They followed the river for several days as it wound its way through the foothills. The country got dryer as the moved south and the river dried up into a stream, then a creek, then an eroded gap where a river used to be.

Bounty gained strength slowly but steadily as they moved. As ugly as his injuries had been, they were mostly skin deep. And Bounty was young – he bounced back quickly. Basque was secretly relieved to watch his progress. Nursemaid-ing a wanted man through unknown territory would add substantially to the difficulty of getting his prize home.

Indeed, even once they were beyond the range of Jawbone Creek justice, Basque made special efforts to move carefully and quietly. He knew he would no longer be the only one on Bounty’s tail, and now that he had managed to beat his competitors to the prize, the two of the became a new and tempting target. There would be no shortage of other hunters out there willing to let Basque do the hard work of actually catching Bounty, only to bring him back to Mace themselves and claim credit. The closer they got to the Glen, in fact, the more dangerous the journey became – at least until Basque could get word to Mace that he’d completed his assignment. Until then, the two of them were vulnerable out here, and having only one horse made them an easy, slow-moving mark.

In an effort to make the miles go by faster, and perhaps gain some of the clarity around Bounty’s character that he craved, Basque tried to make conversation with his captive.

His efforts were met with stony silence. After a while, he gave up.

There was one subject, however, where Basque found he _could_ get Bounty talking, if he was careful about it.

As Bounty gained strength it quickly became clear that the banker had no idea how to survive outside. He didn’t know how to camp, or get clean water, or even light a fire.

After Basque caught him watching intently as he built put together a little fire in the shadow of the trees, Basque called him over gruffly. Bounty stood and came to him, eyes guarded but curious.

Basque took the other man’s hands roughly in his own. Out of cautiousness, he had insisted Bounty keep his wrists tied together, at least when they were in camp, so as to discourage any undue sense of independence. Now he pulled these ties off in a few quick movements, tossing them onto the ground next to their packs.

It took a lot of effort to ignore the question in Bounty’s dark eyes, but Basque managed it.

It was more convenient to share the work, he told himself, releasing Bounty’s fine wrists from his grip. There was no danger in teaching the man to start a fire.

He crouched, gesturing Bounty to join him.

“Start with small stuff,” Basque told him “the tinder.” He made a gesture to the little stack of duff he had gathered.

He expected resistance, but Bounty gave him none. After a moment, he simply nodded. Then he flexed his long fingers, and set to work.

“No, not like that,” Basque said after a moment of watching. “In a pyramid. Have you seriously never lit a fire before? Not even for a stove?”

Bounty paused his work to raise a fine dark eyebrow at him, and Basque felt his heart skip a beat. Bemusement! Any emotion other than anger or petulance from Bounty felt like a rare gift.

“I’ve never had the occasion, no,” came the cool response.

Basque knelt, shaking his head in mock sadness.

“Gentlemen! I suppose you’re used to paying someone else for the please. Here then, try again. Once the little ones are in the middle, you can add the bigger pieces.” 

Bounty tried again, and when the little structure was complete, Basque dug in his pocket and handed him the flint, eyeing him has he did so.

“Know how to work that?”

“Um…I suppose you just…” Bounty struck the two together, sending up sparks.

“Exactly. Except aim there.” Basque indicated the wood.

Bounty set to work.

He was much too far away from the tinder, but Basque suspected he would figure it out. He was, after all, an intelligent man.

So Basque shook his head ruefully, stood up, and left his bounty to it while he set about preparing water and food for dinner.

When he finished with the food and the fire was remained unlit he returned to Bounty’s side to see where things had gone wrong.

Wordlessly he took over, pulling the flint out of the banker’s hands and leaning intentionally into Bounty’s space.

He heard the other man suck in a nervous breath at the unexpected contact, but ignored it.

“Like _this,_ ” he said quietly, showing him how to change the angle of the flint to create a shower of bright sparks.

Bounty’s eyes went huge as the sparks landed in the dry tinder, and Basque leaned over him even forther to blow the little blaze into light.

“Now pass me some more kindling. Hurry up!”

Bounty scrambled to obey, and Basque took the pieces from him without looking, eyeing the little blaze critically.

“You didn’t leave enough room for air. But I think it’ll be okay.” Their hands brushed as he took the wood from his captive, and Basque turned to grin wolfishly at him.

“Not bad for your first time.”

He had caught the look of fascination and triumph on Bounty’s face. The banker had the grace to blush.

For a moment it was difficult to remember that they were enemies. Hard to remember that Basque was taking Bounty back to Devil’s Glen to a man who would probably immediately have him killed.

The little smile playing on Bounty’s lips suggested he had forgotten for a moment too.

After that, Basque looked for more opportunities to draw Bounty out through the practical work of keeping them both alive. He found himself taking inordinate pleasure at simple moments of instruction. When he was working at a task, Bounty let down his guard. He forgot his hatred of Basque and concentrated on the skill at hand. His brow would furrow with concentration as he absorbed everything Basque said.

Despite himself, Basque came to crave Bounty’s conversation. His personality and true feelings remained mostly hidden from the hunter. This made the glimpses he gave Basque even more delicious – like little tastes of a person Basque had to admit he could probably begin to enjoy, given the opportunity.

Basque knew his path of inquiry was dangerous. But his own curiosity – and the self-doubt that had plagued him since he’d dragged Bounty out of Pine Flatts– drove him onwards. If Bounty was not like other bounties, what _was_ he like?

For his own sanity, Basque had to know.


	8. Chapter 8

On the fifth day Basque had begun to think about starting to turn toward the main road and realized they were being followed.

They were picking their way along the dry edge of the rocky gorge under the late afternoon sun. Neither had spoken since they’d stopped to sleep at midday, and Basque was walking at the mare’s head, her reins in his hands, thinking about the best route back to Devil’s Glen.

His first clue that something was wrong was a feeling of discomfort at the back of his neck. Over the years, Basque had learned to trust that feeling. It immediately sent his nerves jangling.

His second clue was the silence. Even in the desert, there were always birds and little animals talking to each other or knocking rocks loose. But this evening there was nothing. Not even a cricket. The animals were silent.

Bounty was completely oblivious, dozing lightly on the mare’s back, and it was as Basque turned his gaze from Bounty back to the path that saw the figure flitting between rocks and brush on the other side of the dry river.

_Well fuck._

He had been walking at the mare’s head, single file, her reins held lightly in one hand. Now he fell in beside her, as casually as he could. The mare plodded on, oblivious.

Basque put a hand on Bounty’s thigh and squeezed gently, which made the other man start into wakefulness, staring down at Basque with mild surprise.

“Don’t look around,” Basque said quietly. “We’re being followed.”

The crunch of the mare’s hooves on the dry gravel covered his voice. Bounty’s eyes grew wider, but he obeyed Basque, keeping his gaze pointed down towards his captor instead.

“How many?” he asked after a moment.

“More than us.”

“What are you going to do?”

This was, Basque thought, the twenty-five thousand mark question.

As far as he could tell they had two options: wait until they were ambushed (not great), stop and confront them immediately (slightly better), or double on the horse and make a run for it (poor odds, but if they were on foot with no mounted back up….feasible).

“See that big rock up there?” he asked.

Bounty, who had resumed his tired slump, nodded almost imperceptibly.

“When we get to the rock, I’m going to jump up behind you on the horse. You’re going to take the reins, and then we’re going to make a run for it.”

Bounty darted a quick look down at Basque, alarmed.

“But my hands…”

They were bound, of course. But Basque had already thought of this. In a smooth motion he slid his hand up Bounty’s leg to his hip. There was a knife under it, laid flat against the fabric of Bounty’s pants.

Bounty, eyes still wide, took it from him with fingers that fumbled only slightly over Basque’s own.

When he was sure Bounty had the idea, Basque dropped his hand back to his side and moved up to his habitual place at the mare’s head, leading the way.

To outward appearances, he knew nothing had changed. But inside his ribs his heart was beating hard in his chest. The flickering shapes on the other side of the river were getting closer. There were at least three of them. That was not good.

As they neared the agreed-upon spot, Basque slowed again, pretending to pick his way over some larger boulders while lining himself up with the mare’s haunches.

Then, as they passed the rock, he tossed the reins to Bounty and gripped the back of the saddle, hauling himself up onto the mare’s rump in a smooth movement. Bounty caught the reins, his hands freed, and kicked the mare, who, unaware of their plans, squealed in surprise and jumped, nearly dislodging Basque. Basque wrapped one arm around Bounty’s waist and used the other to hold on to the saddle horn as they exploded into motion.

Bounty leaned forward over the mare’s neck, her ears flattened back in terror as she bolted.

Basque heard a shout, and smiled grimly.

Good. They’d taken their followers by surprise.

But just as Basque was starting to feel smug, the mare began braking hard, spraying gravel as she tucked her haunches under her. Basque almost lost his balance again, fingers digging into Bounty’s hip as he tried to stay on her back. Over the other man’s shoulder he saw what had happened. There were two people on horses blocking their path.

Bounty was already reacting, turning the mare to run back the way they had come - but they found that way blocked too. Two more opponents with long spears in their hands. The mare, eyes rolling, came to a halt, quivering under them. 

Basque registered the sound of a gun being cocked It was quiet, barely registerable above the clatter of horses’ hooves and heir own breathing. But the sound was unmistakable, and it echoed through Basque’s brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and swore.

Bounty, struggling to control the mare, turned her again, and found himself staring down the barrel.

Basque grimaced.

He knew the face they were looking at.

 _Rachelle._ Another bounty hunter. She and Basque had crossed paths before.

“On the ground, please,” she said when the mare finally stilled. “Weapons where I can see them.”

Basque, moving slowly, released his grip on Bounty and unholstered his gun. He held it up in the air to show it to her. Then he swung easily to the ground beside the mare to put it down in the dirt and backed away from it, putting himself against the Mare’s flank.

“Just the one gun,” said Basque, trying to sound reassuring. “That’s all we’ve got.”

Bounty, less graceful, climbed out of the saddle and dropped to the ground beside Basque.

Rachelle made a gesture, and one of her henchpeople scampered up the collect the weapon and bring it to her.

Rachelle took the gun, examined it, and then jammed it in unceremoniously into the top of her boot.

“Well Basque, its certainly been a while,” Rachelle said.

Basque smiled as disarmingly as he could. The woman looked at him flatly.

“Wait, you _know_ her?” Bounty hissed in his ear. Basque ignored him.

“You look great Rachelle,” Basque said instead. She smiled thinly at him.

“Search their stuff,” she said.

The two that had come up behind them lowered their spears and came forward to root through their saddlebags, taking out the gear and laying it out on the ground where Rachelle could see it. Basque did not try to interfere. When they finished, they came to Bounty and Basque, patting them both down briskly. Basque watched worriedly as they rough-handled Bounty, but the banker didn’t flinch, when rough hands landed hard on his healing back.

The search turned up little of interest. Just Basque’s decoy purse, a few coins still in it, and his empty knife sheath.

Basque had another belt with money under his pants, but it was flush against his body and their rough pat-down failed to detect it.

“Where’s your knife?” the man growled at him, holding up the empty sheath.

“Somewhere on the road back to Pine Flatts,” Basque said in a bored voice. “Dropped it accidently two days ago.”

He wondered as he lied where Bounty had _actually_ put it.

The man tossed the purse to his leader, who opened it and looked inside at its paltry contents, then made a face at Basque.

“No wonder you took this job,” she observed. “Not much to your name these days.”

Basque just shrugged.

Then Rachelle turned her attention to the real object of her interest: Bounty.

Basque felt himself tense up as her eyes slid from him to Bounty, wondering if there was some way he could distract her.

“Long way from Devil’s Glen, aren’t you, boy?” she asked, her voice taking on a little purr.

Bounty said nothing at all in response. His eyes were wide, but he wasn’t looking at Rachelle. That dark gaze was fixed on Basque’s face.

Basque gritted his teeth.

_He wants me to tell him how we’re getting out of this._

“Well, that’s okay. Basque’s done the hard work for me,” Rachelle continued.

“Lets make a deal,” said Basque, cutting her off. “There’s a lot of money at stake here. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

Rachelle looked skeptical. With her free hand she indicated her companions.

“Unlike you, I’ve got wages to pay, Basque,” she said. “Not all of us are stupid enough to run solo, you know.”

“I can make it worth your while – “

“No,” she interrupted flatly. “You can’t.”

Basque winced. “Look, Rachelle, be reasonable.”

“No,” she said. “I _am_ being reasonable. I’m not feeding your fat ass all the way back to the Glen. And I’m not risking you coming after me.” She smiled ruefully. “So I guess this is goodbye, big guy. I won’t miss you.”

She raised her gun, pointing it directly at Basque’s head.

Basque froze.

“Wait!” Bounty’s voice was shrill and panicked, and it startled all of them.

Before Basque knew what was happening, Bounty was stepping between Rachelle’s gun and its target, his hands wide. Everyone, including Basque, looked at him in surprise.

“I wired the Glen from the last town. My family has offered him a ransom. Forty-thousand marks,” Bounty said desperately, stumbling over the words as he rushed to get them out. “Its way more than what you’ll get from Mace, but they won’t pay you. Not without…without _him._ ”

Basque, who knew a life raft when he saw one, rolled with it.

“They know I’ve got him Rachelle. You want to answer their questions when they ask what happened? The deal’s with me. Without me, you won’t see a penny.”

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

But she did not shoot, and she did not order Bounty out of the way.

She was intrigued.

Forty thousand marks _was_ a lot more than twenty-five.

“You’re lying through your fucking teeth, both of you.” She paused. “But lucky for you I don’t like taking chances, and I _do_ like money.”

She jammed her gun back in its holster and Basque released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I’m taking you both to Jawbone and we’re wiring the Glenn to clear things up. If there’s a deal with the family, it gets transferred to me. If there’s not, I leave your body in a gutter, and yours goes over the back of my horse.” She pointed first at Basque, then at Bounty. Got it?” 

“Tie them up!” she yelled to her lackies, who had watched the exchange wordlessly.

“Put a bag on the big one’s head and don’t listen to anything he says. He’s a fucking liar and a thief. We’ll set up camp and head west in the morning.”

Basque felt like he didn’t deserve any of that, but he didn’t object as Rachelle’s lackies sprung to action, digging out rope and a rough canvas sack that looked like it had contained grain before it as repurposed for Basque’s head.

Before the canvas was slammed down over his ears, Basque turned to meet Bounty’s gaze. There was something there…a little of the same fear he’d seen back when he’d pulled him half dead out of that hot town square in Pine Flatts. But there was something else, too: A the hard spark of determination.

_Well, good a time as any._

Personally, Basque didn’t see how they were going to get out of this one.


	9. Chapter 9

The journey to the hunters’ camp was difficult and disorienting for Basque. 

Blind and trussed, he was jerked roughly along by his captors, stumbling over unseen rocks and roots. After what seemed like a very long time they stopped, and Basque heard the familiar sounds of a camp being set. He stood, relieved, and tried to catch his breath.

He was eventually pushed roughly to the ground, and lashed to the base of a pine tree. Basque knew because he could smell the sap, and feel the sharp needles poking into his thighs through his pants. His shoulders were pinned uncomfortably behind him, flush against the tree’s trunk.

Basque didn’t know what happened after that, but the voices and sounds moved off a ways, and soon there was the sound and smell of a fire. He stayed as still as he could and focused on breathing.

The air was stiff and hot inside the bag, and he felt light-headed.

He wasn’t close enough to hear anything that they said clearly, and the sound of his own harsh breath filled his ears.

There was laughing, he thought, and the smell of food cooking. At one point he imagined that he could hear Bounty’s voice but couldn’t be sure.

_Think!_

It was difficult. The effort of getting oxygen into his lungs seemed to occupy the vast majority of his brain space.

They probably had a watch on him, he managed to deduce after some time. They clearly though of him as the dangerous one. They wouldn’t just leave him here.

If Basque was honest with himself, he didn’t even really know why he was still alive at all.

Bounty’s lie had included both of them.

Why had he done that? He didn’t need to. In fact, it could have solved at least one of his problems to let them kill him. One less bounty hunter on his tail…

What was the banker playing at? Did he have a plan? Or was he depending on Basque to come up with something?

Thoughts chased themselves unproductively around Basque’s head, but he couldn’t get them into any kind of order.

“Hey,” said Basque into the sack, just for something different. He wanted to see if anyone would respond.

There was a shuffling noise, but no answer.

So yes, he was under guard.

“How’s the trip been? Good weather?” He asked, conversationally. He waited. There was no response.

“What’s it like running with Rachelle? See any good targets lately?” This, at last, was met with a long-suffering sigh.

“Shut up, hunter. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

Well, so much for conversation.

Basque tried to relax, but he couldn’t make his body calm. His shoulders were aching with the strain of being pulled back, and his legs hurt where they’d been bruised on roots and rocks during his stumbling journey.

_Plan. I need a plan._

Time passed. Nothing came to him.

~*~

Then, lifetimes later, he was starting to doze off when he heard footsteps approaching him through the grass, soft and tentative.

His body immediately tensed, ready for violence.

Instead Bounty’s voice came from right next to his ear.

“Stay very quiet.” His voice was a ghost of air on Basque’s neck. He shivered involuntarily and felt his pulse quicken.

Warm hands wrapped around his and he felt a tugging on his wrists. Then, after another eternity, the loosening of leather.

He tried not to sigh with relief.

Basque pulled the bag off of his own head with trembling fingers as Bounty went to work on his ankles.

It was dark, but not as dark as the inside of a sack.

He could see the dying embers of a fire off to his left, and a dark gently snoring lump that was probably his guard. And there were stars – bright white pinpricks above him. Basque felt relief flood him.

Bounty knelt in the grass, pulling apart the knots of Basque’s bonds. The leather fell away and Basque took a few moments to rub life back into his feet before he tried to stand.

Bounty watched him anxiously, and reached out t steady him when he wobbled a bit, like a concerned friend.

It was weird.

Basque felt the boundaries of their hunter-hunted relationship being seriously compromised again.

 _Not the time_. He would process it later.

The truth was Basque wasn’t in a position to question it at the moment. Things were not going according to script. But on the other hand, that fact meant that Basque wasn’t dead in the woods by a dried up river, so he wasn’t about to complain.

When Basque was standing, Bounty made a gesture toward the other side of the camp.

“Horses?” Basque mouthed the question, and Bounty nodded.

Picking their way around the sleeping guard, they moved quietly around the edge of the camp. Lumps in the shadows marked where the other hunters slept, spread out near the fire. _Amateurs_ , Basque thought, and tried not to feel too smug. It wouldn’t do to get cocky now.

The horses twitched their ears at Basque and Bounty’s approach, eyes bright and interested. Thankfully no one nickered or spooked, staying quiet as the two men approached.

Basque considered the little herd thoughtfully. The best two animals were the leader’s big bay mare and the black they’d rode in on. The other two horses were smaller and scraggly looking. Local stock, probably.

Basque would bet money that Rachelle’s bay was stolen.

There was no way they would be able to saddle the horses undetected, but all four wore rope halters. A bareback ride would have to do.

Basque became aware that Bounty was watching him anxiously again. Waiting, again, for Basque to give him some sort of direction.

This time Basque had a plan. He leaned close to Bounty’s ear and tried not to notice the smell of cinnamon mixed in with sweat.

“Cut the hobbles,” he breathed. “We’re going to take the black and the bay and stampede the others.” 

This, at least, should be a move Bounty was familiar with. It had been the one Basque had used on him only a few weeks before.

Bounty nodded and pulled Basque’s knife from his boot.

Ah, so _that’s_ where he’d hid it. Basque was quietly impressed as Bounty set to work, wasting no time as he cut the cords connecting the animals’ feet.

Basque went to the bay. He removed the horse’s hobbles completely and carefully untied the halter rope - it wouldn’t do to have the big animal stumble and throw him mid flight. Bounty followed his example with the black, fumbling only a little with the unfamiliar equipment.

As the last hobble dropped came free it jingled.

Someone at the campfire stirred.

“Go,” hissed Basque.

Bounty looked at him helplessly.

“Hey!” It was a woman’s voice, alarmed. Basque realized Bounty didn’t know how to mount without a saddle.

_Damn rich kids._

He grabbed Bounty around the waist and threw him over the back of the black mare. He held the boy’s leg as he struggled to balance, grabbing wildly at the mare’s mane. The mare, for her part, threw her head up, snorting loudly.

“HEY!”

Basque turned to the bay, grabbed a handful of mane and swung up effortlessly, grabbing hold of the horse’s lead line as he did so. He brought the end of the rope around expertly and felt it connect with a satisfying smack against the black mare’s rump.

The horses lunged forward as a shot rang out in the dark. 

_Dangerous move,_ Basque thought disapprovingly. She could have hit one of the horses or even one of her own lackies.

But she didn’t and it was too late. The horses were running. Bounty’s black was ahead, and Basque could see the other man’s shape huddled over her neck, clinging desperately to her slippery back. Then he lost sight of them as he dropped his head to avoid losing an eye as they entered the trees at top speed. Branches slapped his face, and Basque bent low over the bay’s shoulder, trying to protect his body.

There was another shot, more yelling, but it was behind them now.

Basque dug his heels into the bay’s sides, urging her into speed. There was an opening in the trees ahead. The road. If they got there they could really open up.

He was overtaking Bounty, which was good, because the boy hadn’t managed to catch hold of the mare’s halter and the lead was flapping wildly about her legs, spooking her further and threatening to trip her. If the mare went down they were both dead, no question.

As he came up beside them, Basque reached over and grabbed the lead with one hand. Bounty was hunched over, his whole body absorbed in the task of staying on her back.

But there were no more shots, and the shouts quickly faded behind them.

~*~

Basque kept his heels in the bay until they reached the main road, several hours later.

The horses were lathered with sweat and breathing hard. Light was just beginning to touch the sky.

For a while, Basque had been worried their captors would catch their remaining mounts and come after them, but either they’d thought better of it or, the more likely scenario, the horses had gotten too lost in the bush to be easily recovered. So as the horses slowed, he felt fairly confident that they had managed to put a considerable amount if distance between them and Rachelle.

Even so, they were not completely safe here. Basque wouldn’t feel safe for another hours, closer to civilization. Where there were witnesses and Rachelle wouldn’t dare come after him. He estimated that they were still a ways out of Jawbone Creek, and he would prefer to go further – Wilson City if they could make it.

Basque looked back at Bounty, who was straightening up now that their pace had slowed.

The sound of the horses’ huffs filled the air.

“You okay?”

There was momentary silence.

“Got shot,” said Bounty, his voice breathy.

Basque yanked the bay to a halt, making Bounty’s mare stop too and nearly dislodging her rider. Bounty sucked in breath, gripping her mane.

“What? How bad?”

“My shoulder. Not bad.” Basque squinted into the semi-darkness. He could see a dark stain on Bounty’s bicep.

“Keep going,” the banker said, “it just grazed me. I’ll clean it up when we’re safe.”

Basque stared at him. 

“If you start feeling faint, tell me,” he said eventually.

Bounty nodded, and Basque could barely see it in the semi-darkness. They still weren’t moving.

Suddenly Basque couldn’t take the ridiculousness of the situation any more.

At some point, between a sun-baked square in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and a midnight escape on stolen horses the bounty-hunter bounty relationship had gotten _complicated_.

He didn’t know how or why but it made him inexplicably mad.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he asked, abruptly.

Bounty met his gaze, but it was too dark for Basque to see his expression.

“Do what?” he asked. Basque made a disgusted noise.

“You know what I’m talking about Bounty. Stop her from shooting me. Untying me back there.” He gestured back down the road where they had come from.

Bounty was silent for a few long moments. The horses, relieved to be standing still, breathed and steamed in the cool air.

“I need you.” Bounty said, eventually. “I don’t have any money. And I’m lost.” He sounded vaguely embarrassed about it. And young. Very very young.

Basque was surprised enough to give a short laugh.

“You could have been rid of me, you know,” he told Bounty, without meaning to. “She would have shot me, no problem. And then you would have had one less hunter on your tail, at no extra effort expended.”

Bounty said nothing in response, just looked back coolly at Basque. His eyes were black wells in the dark, one hand on his injured shoulder the other tangled in the mare’s black mane.

He looked, Basque thought, just a little wild. The silence stretched.

Finally it became clear that Bounty wasn’t going to explain himself any more than he already had. Basque turned the Bay’s head and continued on, shaking his head to himself. The black mare followed with Bounty on her back, plodding behind.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun rose slowly. It was grey and cool, threatening rain.

They avoided other travellers, moving off the road at the sound of approaching wagons. Finally, as afternoon began turning to dusk, they came out of the trees and into the outskirts of Wilson City.

Basque dismounted in front of the first boarding house he found and helped Bounty down. The boy was stiff and wobbly, his legs threatening not to hold him up.

Basque pried stiff and bloody fingers away from his shoulder and gave the wound a cursory examination. It was bleeding profusely, but as the Bounty had promised, just a graze.

Without thinking about it, he pushed both lead ropes into Bounty’s hands.

“Stay here.” He ordered, and then turned to go into the house.

It wasn’t until he came back out onto the porch, room keys in hand, that he realized he’d just left his target alone with two potential vehicles for escape.

Bounty, however, appeared not to have noticed. He was crouched in the dust, examining a cut in the black’s leg.

 _“I need you.”_ The banker’s confession echoed in Basque’s head as he regarded Bounty in the fading sun.

 _Maybe,_ thought Basque, _but how long will_ that _last?_

~*~

Once they had turned the horses over a stable hand, Basque led Bounty around the back of the house and up a narrow set of wooden stairs to their room. Basque pushed open the creaking wooden door to find a steaming wooden tub already waiting for them in a small, neat room. There were folded woolen blankets on twin beds and white towels waiting.

 _Heaven_.

“What if they come to town?” Bounty asked, dumping their few belongings on the floor near the door. He was moving awkwardly with one arm.

“They won’t,” Basque said. He was almost as certain of this as he sounded. Rachelle wouldn’t attack in the open. Not where there were witnesses. The law might be relatively loose out here, but there were certain things people didn’t stand for.

“I’m going to clean up, Basque said. He was already pulling his dirty shirt off over his head, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor half way between the door and the tub.

“You can go after me. Once you get some of the blood off of you.”

Bounty looked longingly at he steaming tub, but did as he was told, finding a stack of cloths and a bucket of cold water in the room’s opposite corner and settling himself on a high stool to examine the damage.

Basque left a trail of debris between the door and the tub, unbuckling his pants and dropping them unceremoniously in a pile just at the edge.

He was _very_ much looking forward to this. He hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks, and he felt a desperate need to scrub the dirt from the sack that had been over his head out of his scalp.

As he stepped into the tub, naked, he felt eyes on him and turned in time to catch Bounty glancing away, reddening.

Basque quirked a smile. Well, if the kid liked what he saw, he could have had it the second night of their acquaintance. Instead, he’d drugged him, taken his wallet, and split with his stuff.

Basque lowered himself into the hot water, sighing in pleasure as he felt the hot water slip over him. When he had settled, he watched Bounty studiously avoided looking at him while he cleaned his shoulder.

_What are you playing at, banker boy?_

Basque thought back to their midnight flight and the questions he’d asked Bounty. Had he meant what he said, about needing him, or was it an easy answer to a difficult question?

It was hard to tell for sure, but Basque couldn’t argue with the logic. Evidence certainly seemed to indicate that Bounty was pretty much hopeless in the bush, and with Rachelle out there it had become an even more dangerous place. Under the circumstances, perhaps Bounty was simply choosing the devil he knew over the devil he didn’t.

Basque grabbed soap and began rubbing it into his hair, still thinking.

Now that they were back in “civilization,” would the same calculations hold? Or would the kid split? Or kill him and split?

And what the fuck was Basque going to do now that the whole hunter, bounty relationship had gotten fucked up?

Need him or no, he somehow doubted Bounty would docilely follow him back to Devil’s Glen to get voluntarily murdered. So what was his long term game plan?

He wanted to ask about it, but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

Bounty was about finished with cleaning up his shoulder, and was starting to shiver in the cool air of the room, colder now that the sun was gone. He had found matches, and was fumbling now to light one of the oil lanterns that had been left for them.

Basque, watching him through the steam, felt a warm curl of pleasure at the sight.

 _Just you and me again_. They had been lucky, getting away from Rachelle. Being alive right now, he thought, felt pretty good.

“How’s it look?” Basque asked, referring to the shoulder. Bounty looked up from his work still a little pink in the cheeks.

Basque couldn’t help the predatory little smile that curled his lip. An extension of the general good will he was feeling.

“Its fine.” Bounty replied faintly, looking away.

“Come here and let me look at it,” Basque said, and his voice came out in a little purr that was not _entirely_ innocent.

Bounty met Basque’s eyes, alarmed. So he would know he was serious, Basque lifted a steaming hand out of his bath and crooked a finger, doing his best impression of a malevolent steamy god.

“Come on. If there’s still a bullet in there, we’ll have to dig it out.” This was said teasingly, and because both of them knew there was no bullet in there and this was not really about the wound. Basque wanted to know where they stood.

 _Are you going to play my little game, or no?_ Whatever he chose would tell Basque something. He clamped down on the desperate little part of himself that hoped Bounty wouldn’t shut down again.

“I told you, there’s no bullet,” Bounty, protested, looking annoyed. But then he pressed his lips together, put down his cloth and came to stand by the edge of the tub.

He didn’t look as Basque, keeping his eyes carefully averted. Stiff and polite.

 _So proper_ , Basque thought. _What do I have to do to get you to slip?_

Basque stood, shedding water and putting himself directly in the path of Bounty’s gaze. Bounty’s eyes raked over Basque’s body before jolting, guilty, to his face.

Basque looked down at Bounty, the little smile still playing unconsciously on his lips.

He’d just been checked out. He didn’t hate it.

“What are you doing?” Bounty asked quietly, his voice only shaking a little.

“Checking your wound,” said Basque, his voice pitched low enough to indicate that he was not, in fact, particularly interested in his wound.

Bounty reddened again, and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Basque reached out to hold Bounty’s arm and turn him so he could look at the injury.

Bounty’s skin was cool under his fingers, and prickled with gooseflesh. Bounty flinched a little and looked away, avoiding Basque’s eyes.

Basque did take a minute to examine the wound and as he had suspected it didn’t look bad, now that the bleeding had stopped and Bounty had washed the blood away. The bullet had indeed grazed the flesh, taking out a clean chunk, but not deep enough to hit muscle.

Satisfied, Basque released Bounty, letting his arm drop. Then he stepped out of the tub and directly into Bounty’s personal space. Bounty stumbled backwards, scrambling to get out of Basque’s way.

Basque knew he was being cruel, all things considered, but he couldn’t help it.

He watched Bounty flounder from under hooded eyes, then turned abruptly and walked away from him, over to the bed.

“Your turn,” he said lightly, wrapping a towel haphazardly around his hips. “The water is less clean, but its still hot.”

Bounty looked at Basque, and then at the water, seemingly caught in indecisions. Then he began unbuttoning his pants.

It was Basque’s turn to look away now, busying himself with picking up his discarded clothing on the floor and doing his best not to gawk. He’d tortured the poor man enough.

“We need to talk,” he said, as Bounty lowered himself into the water and out of Basque’s immediate view Bounty eyed him suspiciously from over the rim of the tub. Basque eyed him back as pulled Basque dirty jeans back on.

“What about?” Bounty’s question was suspicious and a little surly.

“About you.” Silence greeted this.

“I need to know what I’ve gotten into,” Basque elaborated. He sat down on the edge of the bed, forgoing his shirt. His body was still warm from the heat of the bath. He tilted his head, watching the profile of Bounty’s face speculatively.

“What did Mace do to you?” he asked. “Forgive me for saying so, but I’ve gotten to know you a bit over the last few weeks and you don’t seem like the type to shoot up a bar for no reason.”

Bounty shifted, uncomfortably, and then picked up the soap, rubbing it into his hair.

“Why does it matter?” he asked.

Basque shrugged. “It didn’t, until now.”

“What changed?”

Basque made a gesture, taking in Bounty, the tiny room, the bloody basin on the washstand.

“Do I have to spell it out? Two days ago you were headed back to Devil’s Glen slung over the back of your own pony like a lamb for slaughter. Now I’m paying for your hotel room and asking after your bullet wound. None of this is my doing. If I’d had it my way, I’d have been dead on the road with a bullet in my head. That’s how this _should_ have gone. But it didn’t. Because of you. I just want to know why.”

Silence again greeted this. Basque waited patiently while Bounty finished washing his dark hair, letting the silence stretch.

“He killed my sister.” Bounty said, eventually, so quiet that Basque couldn’t be sure he’d heard right.

“What?”

“You asked what Mace did to me.” Bounty repeated; voice tight. “He killed my sister.”

It was Basque’s turn to be silent. He processed this information slowly, chewing on it.

“Oh,” he eventually settled for. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know Bounty had even _had_ a sister. He also, now that Bounty had made this confession, did not know how to ask more about it.

Bounty stood up suddenly, back to Basque, shedding water in a wave. Drops landed carelessly on the wood floor.

Basque, startled, looked up at his target. He took in the long pale lines of his naked body. His gaze lingered on his sculpted thighs, the angular lines of his ass. He bit his lip, realizing what he’d done, and looked away quickly.

_Damnit. Not the time._

“What are you going to do?” Bounty asked him. He bent over the side of the tub to grab Basque’s discarded towel. Basque tried desperately not to stare.

“Don’t know yet.” Basque answered, truthfully. Bounty turned to face him, towel wrapped neatly around his hips.

“Whatever you decide,” he said, dark eyes sharp and piercing, “could it possibly involve getting me a new shirt?” he sounded faintly exasperated.

Basque grinned. He couldn’t help it. Bounty was a perfect gift, standing there dripping water, his hair sticking up at odd angles, demanding Basque buy him things. He had dissipated the tension just like that. Dismissed the topic. Moved on. The man was resilient, if nothing else. And cagy as hell.

“We’ll have to,” he answered, “You attract too much attention like that.” He hadn’t meant it to sound teasing, but the note slipped into his voice unexpectedly.

Bounty glared at him.

“I didn’t mean…” Basque stood, chuckling at himself, and Bounty’s eyes tracked him.

He was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. How much skin was exposed.

Bounty broke the moment by bending down and picking up his pants, pulling them on under the towel modestly.

“Yes. I can get you a shirt.” Then, watching Bounty carefully, he calculated his next jab.

“I’ll add it to Mace’s bill.” Basque watched the sheriff’s name hit home, watched Bounty stiffen.

 _Don’t think you can get out of this conversation by flirting with me_. Basque deliberately turned away, irritated.

Suddenly, Bounty was right behind him, and Basque turned around just in time to catch a bare white wrist as his own knife flashed toward his neck.

It was pure instinct that saved him.

His mind had been elsewhere. Somewhere between Bounty’s long legs and his pretty mouth, to be exact. He’d totally forgotten about the knife.

Bounty was glaring at him, lips parted, muscles drawn taught. Basque gazed down into those angry eyes, half bemused half annoyed.

“Nice tr-“ Bounty’s other hand came at him, balled in a fist.

Basque, who rarely fell for the same trick twice, blocked the blow effortlessly, and then twisted Bounty’s knife hand until the blade dropped with a clatter to the wooden floor. Bounty gasped in sudden pain.

Then Bounty’s knee came up, aimed between Basque’s legs, but Basque was ready for that too and effortlessly stepped out of the way. Bounty struggled in his grip, trying to pull back, but Basque held him.

“Let go.” Bounty hissed, illogically.

Basque just snorted a laugh and turned them both before throwing him hard onto the bed. Bounty gasped again, surprised and maybe a little hurt.

Basque tried to tell himself he didn’t care. It meant nothing to him that Bounty had attached him. It was, at the very least, a return to a familiar script.

He bent to pick up the dropped knife, pointing it at Bounty, sprawled on the bed.

“Don’t fucking try me.” He _was_ annoyed. Angry at himself and angry at Rachelle and angry at Mace and angry at Bounty.

Bounty. Who apparently couldn’t take a hint because he was coming at him again, springing off the mattress and swinging his fists wildly.

Basque swore, slamming the knife back into its sheath on his belt before grabbing Bounty’s arms and pulling them behind his back, immobilizing him. Then he pushed him back down on the bed firmly, this time pinning him under his own body weight.

Bounty struggled for a few minutes and then went still, breathing hard.

His bullet wound had started to bleed, Basque noticed with irritation. It was going to get on the nice white sheets.

“Don’t make this hard on both of us.” Basque advised, eyeing the wound from his vantage point half-lying on top of the other man.

“Why the fuck not?” hissed Bounty.

Basque effortlessly flipped him over so he was on his back, facing him, and straddled him between his knees. He kept both of Bounty’s wrists pinned over his head.

He didn’t really have a good answer.

He didn’t have a good answer for any of it.

Why hadn’t he just killed Bounty when he had a chance? Why hadn’t Bounty done the same to him?

“The fuck is wrong with you? You risked your life to keep Rachelle from killing me, only to try and stab me to death in the nearest boarding house? You think your problems are going to go away when they find a dead bounty-hunter on the floor in here?”

Bounty didn’t have a good answer for this, clearly, because he didn’t say anything.

Basque leaned over him, bringing their faces close.

“If I had half a mind I’d…”

“You’d what? Is that why you haven’t killed me? Want to fuck me first?”

The accusation startled Basque into pulling back slightly, and Bounty took the opportunity to rip his hands free.

Basque flinched, expecting retaliation, but Bunty was done. He didn’t try and hit Basque again. He just glared up at him, breathing hard.

“What, you think I don’t see you looking at me?” Bounty continued. His voice was bitter. “You couldn’t be more fucking obvious.”

Then, without warning, he _did_ move, reaching up to push his fingers into Basque’s still-wet hair. Before Basque knew what was happening, Bounty had pulled their mouths together roughly. Basque shocked, let Bounty kiss him, felt rough lips moving over his own hungrily.

A sudden surge of desire, white and hot, hit him in the gut a few seconds later. And then he was kissing Bounty back, one hand flying to Bounty’s hip, squeezing hard.

_Yes…oh yes…_

Bounty pushed up into him, arching his back, and couldn’t help the little moan that escaped his own lips at the sensation. Basque held their bodies together, crushing breath from his own lungs.

He wanted Bounty. Every piece of him. He knew it was wrong, but he had stopped caring. Wrong could wait to get sorted out later.

Right now Bounty tasted _so damn good it hurt_. And the sight of Bounty, normally so stiff and composed and angry, ever the posh gentleman even in the middle of the goddamn wilderness, opening and responsive under Basque’s hands, was unlike anything Basque had ever experienced.

Then he was pushing his hand between Bounty’s legs over his pants, feeling the hardness there and feeling his own body react.

Basque pulled back for a moment then, in time to see Bounty’s head fall back in pleasure at the touch between his legs, lips parted, eyelashes fluttering closed.

_Ploy? Or real?_

Basque’s hand went to Bounty’s waist, pushing his still-damp trousers down over his hips. He pulled away from Bounty’s mouth then, kissing down his jaw and neck, loving the way the soft skin felt under his lips and teeth. Bounty tipped his head back, giving him room, exposing delicate expanses of flushed skin. Bounty’s hands slid down Basque’s spine, pressing firmly into him, asking for more.

“Bounty.” Basque was shaking hard.

Bounty’s eyes opened, meeting his. The dark pupils were dilated, swollen lips slightly parted. Real. It had to be real. It was one of the most beautiful things Basque had ever seen.

He fought his own desperate instinct to keep going, despite everything. He couldn’t do that, not without an answer. A couple of answers.

“You want this?” he asked, breathing hard, eyes fixated on Bounty’s mouth. He needed to know.

It could so easily be against Bounty’s will. This was wrong. They both knew it was wrong.

But Bounty nodded clearly, wordless and assenting.

Basque gave in, bent and kissed him again, and Bounty pressed hard against him, needy, working his own pants off over his hips with his free hand.

Basque pulled away again. 

He had another question.

He had Bounty naked under him now, and saw the flash of irritation that crossed the younger man’s face.

“Is this a trick? Am I going to end up drugged on the floor again?” Basque asked.

He had to know. It didn’t seem like a trick but then again, it hadn’t seemed like a trick the first time either.

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” Bounty said, sounding impatient.

Basque laughed at this. It was a pretty funny thing to say, considering the circumstances.

The banker realized this and blushed, frowning, so Basque bent and captured that gorgeous mouth again, loving the way Bounty’s lips tasted – like salt and sweetness and warmth.

Bounty’s hands had found the buckle on Basque’s pants and were fumbling with them. Basque helped him, and soon they were both naked in the dim room, breathing hard, tangled in white sheets.

Basque lost himself in Bounty completely then, forgetting the bounty, Rachelle’s attack, the long journey between them and Devil’s Glen, the knife coming for his throat.

Instead there was only the exquisite feeling of Bounty’s willing body pressed against his, the heat of his mouth, the slide of their skin, and, following very quickly after, the soft sounds of Bounty’s pleasure, growing more urgent.

_Bounty._


	11. Chapter 11

Basque’s eyes fluttered open. It was well before sunrise. At first he wasn’t sure what had woken him, but then he saw Bounty, crouching naked by their discarded clothing in the grey light of early morning.

_Really?_

“Looking for something?” Basque’s fingers closed on the hilt of his knife, hidden under the pillow.

He’d waited until Bounty had fallen asleep to get up and fetch it. Call him paranoid.

Bounty looked up, faintly guilty, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

Basque sighed, pulled his hands out from under the pillow, revealing the blade he was sure Bounty had been looking for. He propped himself up on his elbow, threading the knife between his fingers. Bounty’s eyes dropped to Basque’s hands and then back up to Basque’s face.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” Basque put a little playfulness in his voice, so Bounty would know he was unaffected.

In truth, though, it hurt.

Basque watched warily as the guilt melted from Bounty’s face. The banker stood up and walked back to the bed, lithe and confident in a way that reminded Basque of the moment just before he’d been offered drugged drink.

He eyed Bounty suspiciously. 

“What are you up to?” But despite the real and present danger Bounty offered, he could feel excitement building in him. Specifically, blood flowing south against his will.

Sure, Basque had just caught Bounty looking for a weapon to cut his throat with.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t extremely hot.

Basque wasn’t immune to charm.

He rolled on to his back as Bounty approached the bed, knife still clasped firmly in his hands. Bounty, barely pausing, straddled him at the waist. Thin sheets were all that separated them. There was no way Bounty was not aware of how aroused Basque was.

The hunter regarded his bounty for a few seconds, weighed the options and considered his next move. 

Then, without looking and with a deft flick of his wrist he flipped the knife away. As far as possible. He heard it scatter across the floor several metres away.

Basque had expected Bounty’s eyes to track the weapon, his ploy thwarted. He braced himself for the disappointment he knew that look would cause. That look would tell him that all of this had been a deceit.

 _He’s using me_.

But to Basque’s surprise Bounty didn’t even blink. His hands were flat on Basque’s bare chest, and as the knife spun away he spread his fingers possessively. Then he leaned down, kissing Basque lightly on the mouth.

The gesture made Basque ache. His now empty hands slid up over smooth pale thighs to grasp Bounty’s hips against his better judgement.

The other man pulled back, trying to keep Basque from taking control. But, moving fast, Basque used his leverage to flip Bounty onto his back.

Basque felt Bounty’s muscles tense instinctively as Basque reversed their positions, but he didn’t fight. He watched Bounty’s lips part in a little “oh” of surprise as his back hit the sheets, legs tangling with Basque’s own.He couldn’t help feeling like a wolf with a rabbit between his paws.

He couldn’t help liking it. A lot.

Deliciously, Basque noticed that Bounty’s lips were still red and a little swollen from the night before. In the weak morning light Basque could see faint little scrapes on his collarbone where teeth had run over skin.

_Mine. I made you mine._

He remembered the sounds Bounty had made. The way he had called his name. The wickedness in his eyes. How quickly he’d come – the first time.

How he’d begged Basque for more. 

Basque lost himself in his study of Bounty - the stain of pink high on Basque’s cheeks, the rich black of his messy hair, glossy as a raven’s wing, the dark eyes, pupil barely distinguishable from iris. In this moment he didn’t look much like the composed banker Basque had first seen on a wanted sign in Devil’s Glen. 

He looked like heaven. Basque found himself unable to believe that someone so beautiful, so poised, could possibly want him, could possibly be looking back at him so openly.

“What are you waiting for?” Bounty’s question was a little breathless, tinged with impatience.

Basque realized he’d been still for too long, drinking Bounty in. He smiled slowly, like a big blonde wolf.

“Don’t think you can distract me, Bounty. I haven’t forgotten you tried to kill me.”

Bounty blinked owlishly at him. “Distractions seems to be working just fine.”

The cheekiness of the response was unexpected and it sent another jolt through Basque. He had expected Bounty to deny it. He laughed softly.

“Have it your way,” he said, and shrugged. Then, unable to hold himself back any longer, kissed Bounty roughly.

~*~

A little less than an hour later, Basque disentangled himself from Bounty’s arms reluctantly. It was ridiculously late. They needed to leave.

The smaller man protested weakly, eyes opening slowly.

“We have to go,” Basque said, his voice low.

That woke Bounty up more fully, and Basque found himself looking into dark eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Basque knew what he was probably thinking.

Devil’s Glen. Mace. Getting trussed up and slung over the back of Basque’s horse like a lamb to slaughter.

The silence stretched.

“What? Did you think something had changed?” The words were harsher than Basque meant them to be.

If truth be told, he was masking uncertainty.

He’d never found himself in this situation before. Sex with the bounty was not generally considered a good idea.

But Basque had done it. Several times. And it had been mind blowingly good.

Worse, he wanted to do it again, as soon as possible, and see what other beautiful noises he could elicit from this mysterious northern gentleman.

But, aside from the sex, had their mutual purposes fundamentally changed?

Bounty had undoubtably been going for his knife in the grey light of the dawn. What was he planning to do with it? Was all of this an elaborate attempt to keep Basque from turning him in?

Basque had a lot of questions and a lot of feelings. Until he sorted them out, he was sticking with his original plan.

Bounty still didn’t say anything, but his gaze dropped, and he pushed away the blankets, silent and sullen.

~*~

By the time they were on the road, resupplied, it was late in the day.

Basque let Bounty ride on his own.

Neither of them had said anything about it, but it felt extremely wrong to tie Bounty’s wrists again. Basque didn’t think he’d try to run, but if he did Basque thought he could probably catch the black mare with the bigger bay. He also believed what Bounty had said before about his dependence on Basque for survival, especially now that they were low on supplies.

Basque was still nervous about being followed, but there was no sign of Rachelle as they set out and the road was relatively busy with fellow travellers.

They’d left so late that night came quickly. Basque pushed the horses to continue on through the darkness for a while, wanting to put as many miles as possible behind them. Eventually, though, they were forced to stop. Basque picked a spot a little down the road from the relative safety of a large group of merchants travelling out of Wilson City. Close enough for safety, far enough away for privacy. With the other group’s big fire and dozen or so horses nearby, Basque knew the two of them wouldn’t draw undue attention.

Bounty hobbled the horses and pulled bread and cheese from their bags while Basque started a fire. Then they stood around the crackling flames in silence for a while, avoiding each others’ eyes and not saying anything. 

Eventually Basque turned back to their packs and pulled out a sleeping blanket. It was still cold at night, especially out here near the mountains. He wrapped it around his shoulder turned to Bounty, spreading his arms wide.

An invitation.

“Coming?” he asked gruffly.

There was something building in him. Anger at himself. Hurt. Guilt.

Bounty turned to him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they’d woken up. His lips were parted, and he sucked in a breath, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find words.

But nothing came out, and instead he just stepped into the circle of Basque’s arms, pressing his cheek to Basque’s chest. Basque wrapped the blanket around his back and held him, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and the slow rhythm of his heart. They stood together for a few moments, enjoying each others’ warmth.

Basque ran a hand up Bounty’s back and felt the other man shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“Do you care?” Bounty probably didn’t mean for it to sound petulant, but it did.

Basque didn’t know how to answer. So instead he pulled the other man down to the ground, placing him between his own body and the fire. Bounty’s hands rested lightly against Basque’s chest as they settled.

 _Yes,_ he wanted tell him. _I do care, heaven help me._

But he couldn’t, so instead he just held him, closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet smell and feeling of him, and wondering when his conscience was going to catch up to him.

Then he felt cool fingers sliding under his shirt, over his abdomen, and up over his ribs. There Bounty gripped him, hard, nails digging into his skin. Bounty’s other hand ghosted over Basque’s jaw, around the back of his head, sinking into his thick hair and pulling lightly. Basque stopped breathing, afraid to move, afraid that if he did anything Bounty would pull away.

But Bounty didn’t. Instead Bounty kissed him, slow and gently, his whole body pressing into Basque like he wanted to press all the air out from between them.

When Basque finally, aching, felt Bounty break the kiss he could not help the little noise that escaped him. Need. Regret. Existential dread.

But Bounty wasn’t finished. Deft fingers were opening his shirt from the top, hot mouth leaving a trail of kisses down Basque’s throat and across his collar. Then lower.

Basque lost himself to Bounty’s touch. Lost all caution. Surrendered himself completely. He didn’t have the willpower to do anything else.

Much later, drunk on the taste and the feeling and the smell of him, Basque realized that Bounty could have killed him multiple times over.

Basque didn’t know where any of his weapons were. He didn’t know anything.

As they collapsed tangled together next to the still-glowing embers of their fire, it occurred to Basque that even if Bounty _had_ tried to kill him, he would not have stopped it. 

~*~

The next morning Basque’s conscience and his sense of self-preservation finally _did_ catch up to him.

He pulled himself carefully away from Bounty, pushing the blankets down around him to keep the cold morning air off the other man’s exposed back.

He couldn’t do this. It was too confusing. He didn’t know what he was doing any more. Didn’t know which way was up. And Bounty was probably going to be the death of him, one way or the other. 

The sex had changed something. Taken them further down a road Basque wasn’t sure he wanted to go down.

Basque rekindled the little fire and pulled water and coffee from their bag, mixing them together in a little travel pot and pushing it into the hot coals.

The sex, for one, was deeply wrong. Consenting or not, it was an abuse of power.

Basque had never really thought about what was fair to his target before, but he’d also never been sexually attracted to one. Now that it was happening, he realized that it wasn’t right.

There was probably some sort of Stockholm syndrome going on there, and he was encouraging it. That was exploitative.

Did Bounty even want it? Did he think he had to? Or was he doing it out of desperation that it would make Basque change his mind? A bribe of sorts? Basque didn’t know which would be worse.

Besides his moral qualms, insecurity gnawed at him. He didn’t want to be with someone who was doing it to try and get something out of him. The thought made him feel dirty.

Ultimately, this was not a healthy captor/captured relationship.

No, he realized, what he was doing was sick. They were still headed to Devil’s Glen. Basque still intended to turn him in. And so all of this was wrong in all kinds of ways, and Basque needed it to stop before he went mad or before Bounty stabbed him or both.

Bounty woke at the smell of coffee and stirred, opening big dark eyes to fix Basque with his serious stare, blankets slipping off of his shoulder.

Basque felt his stomach twist.

It wasn’t fair, him being so fucking gorgeous. It made things harder. Did he know he looked like some kind of exotic god, dark hair tousled artfully, blankets sliding off of his naked shoulder? Was this an intentional bid to get Basque to jump him? 

Pained, Basque poured coffee and passed it to his bounty wordlessly.

Those big dark eyes tracked him, full of questions.

 _He can sense somethings changed_. The idea that Bounty could read him like a book was alarming.

He was careful not to let their fingers touch, but could help the way his heart leapt when Bounty’s generous mouth curling into a shy smile.

Coffee in hand Bounty sat up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he did. Basque busied himself with the packs and tried to shut down his brain.

Soon they were on the road again, Bounty riding behind him where Basque couldn’t see him.

It was better that way, Basque thought.

When he didn’t have to see him, it was easier to think of him as a target.

 _Twenty-five thousand marks walking._ He repeated this to himself as they rode.

By evening, he almost believed it.


	12. Chapter 12

They arrived in another town that night. It was busy, and there wasn’t much choice in the way of rooms. Basque eventually secured them a dingy little hotel. The only room left only had one bed, which Basque thought was heavily ironic, considering his resolution.

The universe was cruel.

Bounty closed the door behind them, dropping the saddle-bags on the floor, and Basque turned to him abruptly.

“How’d you do it, anyway?” It was the first thing Basque had said to him all day, and he knew it was a non-sequitur.

Bounty blinked owlishly, unprepared for the assault.

He was tired, Basque realized. Probably still hurting from that bullet wound. Basque had forgotten about it, so lost had he been in his own thoughts all day. 

Basque suppressed his instinctual guilt and then suppressed instinctual pity. _Twenty-five thousand marks walking._

“Do what?” Bounty asked, his voice dull.

“Kill those guys,” Basque said.

He went to the door and grabbed his saddle-bag, pulling his bedroll out. He’d sleep on the floor.

He wasn’t looking at Bounty directly, but when the banker didn’t answer right away, he did and found him staring at him, his face white.

_Ah, weren’t expecting this, were you? Well, too bad._

“Six of them, Mace told me,” said Basque mercilessly, dropping his bedroll and facing Bounty straight on. “Some of the best gunmen in the Glen, or they wouldn’t be Mace’s hires. How’d you do it?”

“I…” Bounty stammered, and Basque frowned. “I…they didn’t…”

Basque snorted.

“Surprise? Maybe the first three, but all six? I’m starting to think you’re holding out on me. You must be the quickest shot in the South.”

Bounty’s mouth snapped shut, and his look of shock turned into abruptly into cold anger.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said.

“I know a couple things,” Basque retorted, leaning against the grimy little room’s single desk. “I know you’re a pretty inept outlaw. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Bounty asked, coldly. “You haven’t said a word to me all day and now this?”

Basque shrugged.

“Just trying to get to know you.”

Bounty’s eyes were dark and angry.

“I learned to shoot in college,” he said, his voice icey.

“And?”

“And they were drunk,” he continued, and then looked away again. Embarrassment? Cover for a lie?

But then Basque watched a little shudder go through him, barely perceptible. But Basque perceived it and found it interesting.

Did he regret it, then?

“Ever kill anyone before that?” he asked.

Bounty looked up at the question, startled by its harshness.

“No. Of course not…I…” Bounty paused. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I was so angry…they…”

“Killed your sister. You told me that part already.”

Basque turned his attention back to his bedroll, kicking it open on the floor.

He knew he was being cruel. Normally being cruel wouldn’t bother him. But he didn’t _like_ being cruel to Bounty. It felt like kicking a puppy.

After a few minutes of silence Bounty moved into the room cautiously, looking around.

“Not exactly the Ritz,” said Basque after a while.

Bounty shrugged.

“Better than the ground.”

“For you, maybe,” said Basque, indicating his sleeping roll.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. You take the bed.”

Bounty blinked, surprised.

Basque didn’t blame him. After yesterday, it was an abrupt change in tact. But Basque knew it was long past time he set some boundaries.

“We can’t sleep together.”

Basque hated the look on Bounty’s face. Hurt. Confusion. Kicking puppies. It was like a knife in his gut. Worse.

Bounty was silent.

“It’s wrong,” Basque continued. “What we’ve been doing is wrong. I’m sorry about last night. And…um…the night before.”

Damn it. He couldn’t meet Bounty’s eyes.

“If you felt like you had to…that’s…that’s…” Basque struggled to find words. That’s rape, he realized. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead he settled for: “I won’t do it again.”

He dragged his gaze up to Bounty’s face, forcing himself to confront the effect of his words. Bounty looked back at him coolly, unflustered. In the ten seconds it had taken Basque to choke out his decision he’d collected himself, the bastard. He was too quick.

“I didn’t feel like I had to,” Bounty said, voice low.

“Nevertheless,” said Basque, drawing the word out so that he was sure he was being clear. “Its wrong. And we have to _stop_.”

~*~

Bounty couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Morality? From the Hunter?

Bounty crossed the distance between them, stopping just within Basque’s reach.

“I’m not scared of you,” he said.

He looked up at the big blonde man, defiant. His hands clenched unconsciously into fists. He wasn’t lying. Basque _was_ terrifying. He was strong and fast and skilled and his blue eyes could look right through Bounty.

But a few weeks on the road had more or less dispelled his ability to intimidate Bounty. He was still mysterious and a little dangerous, yes, but he was also careful and intelligent and, in his less guarded moments, he had been _kind_.

He was also extremely fucking attractive – lean and muscular, long dirty-blonde hair, and skin the colour of coffee. The long sandy lashes that brushed his cheeks, the freckles that dusted his broad shoulders like constellations, the way he looked at Bounty with the crooked little smile – he made Bounty weak.

And then there was the sex. The sex had been _surprising_. Bounty had watched Basque come apart, felt him lose control utterly, and even in _those_ moments be utterly perfect, completely gentle. Bounty had found himself pliant under those strong hands, willing to bend himself over backwards if it meant getting one more little noise of pleasure from him. Even now he was desperate to sink into the warmth of him.

“Everything I did I did because I wanted to.” He said, unable to keep the huskiness from his voice.

This was true. He couldn’t actually _explain it_ , mind, but it was still true. If the thought of some of the things he had done were still making him blush twelve hours later – well, that couldn’t be helped.

Basque still didn’t respond so Bounty closed the remaining distance between them.

“I don’t have much agency here,” he said, inches from Basque’s mouth. “But this one thing I do control.”

He slipped a hand around Basque’s muscular back, pulling the other against him.

Basque didn’t resist.

He didn’t resist when Bounty kissed him, either.

But he also didn’t kiss him back.

Bounty pulled away, horror rising in him.

_Seriously?_

He released Basque suddenly, and stepped back.

Everything else he could deal with. The helplessness. The long days on horseback. The uncertain future. The threat of imminent death.

For some reason, the humiliation of Basque’s rejection was the last straw.

“Fuck. You.” he said. His voice was icy calm.

Basque said nothing. 

How could ne not see that this was worse? So much worse?

Bounty struck out before he realized what he was doing. His hand acted of his own accord. But Basque, of course, was faster, and caught his wrist before his palm contacted skin.

Bounty, breathing hard, looked into his face.

But he didn’t see anger in the hunter’s blue eyes. Just pity.

_So so so so so much worse._

He wrenched free and swung again, but Basque effortlessly reflected the blow.

“Bounty stop.”

“No!” He was struggling now, caught in Basque’s hands and feeling a desperate kind of panic rise in him. Didn’t Basque see that this was the one thing he had given Bounty agency over? How cruel it was to show him something like that…and then take it away?

Bounty twisted savagely in Basque’s grip, got one hand free and, without thinking about it, reached quick as cat for Basque’s gun. It was still on his hip.

Before he knew what was happening, he had it in his hand wrapped around the grip and the muzzle pressed hard against Basque’s belly.

He felt the other man freeze instinctively as the cold metal dug into his abdomen. Bounty felt a sudden rush of power as his brain caught up with what had happened.

Basque’s left hand was still wrapped tightly around Bounty’s right wrist, squeezing hard enough to be painful.

“Bounty what are you doing?” Basque’s voice was tight with fear.

Bounty felt himself wondering. Fear was something Bounty had never heard from Basque before. Not even when he’d had Rachelle’s gun pointed straight at his head. Not even when he’d had a knife coming at his throat. He was _never_ afraid.

And he was asking a good question.

What _was_ Bounty doing?

He breathed hard. He didn’t know, really. He had never known.

He felt the gun waver in his grip, the feeling of power faltering.

He had never known…not when he was in college, not when he’d been working, not when his sister had come to him, asking for help, not when he’d shot those men at Tommy’s. Everything had just _happened_. So fast. Before he could think about it.

It felt like the world was something that happened ten seconds before he was ready, and he was just a passenger, along for the ride.

It wasn’t _fair._

The gun dropped from Basque’s stomach. Fumbling, Bounty found Basque’s holster with the muzzle and shove the weapon back in, so hard Basque flinched.

“Nothing. I’m doing nothing.”

Basque dropped his wrist.

They stood there, not saying anything. Bounty looked hard at the floor.

Bounty tried desperately to get his emotions under control. He was shaking. He could feel it.

He startled as Basque’s big hand touched his cheek, pushed the hair out of his face. Bounty couldn’t help pressing into it, even though he hated himself for it.

His eyes flicked up to meet Basque’s gaze, not hiding the resentment he felt. But the look Bounty found there wasn’t pitying any more. It was curious.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll sleep with you, if it means that much to you.” It was meant as a joke. Bounty felt his lips make a rueful smile despite himself.

“What if I changed my mind?”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.” The light tone was gone. He was serious. “Just tell me what you want, Bounty. I’ll give it to you.” This was said softly, and low, and Bounty felt his stomach flip.

Too much. This was all too much.

_What am I doing?_

“I want to go home,” he said abruptly. “And go back to work. And see my sister on the weekends. And for none of this to have happened.”

He felt Basque’s touch falter on his cheek.

Of course he couldn’t give him that.

And that was why this was so wrong.

That was why, Bounty realized suddenly, Basque had called a stop to it. His _conscience_ was bothering him. He couldn’t give him those things because he was still planning to turn him in. He had said so himself. And now he didn’t want to sleep with Bounty because doing so was not particularly well aligned with his stated intentions to sell Bounty for twenty-five thousand marks.

Well fuck it. Basque could deal with his conscience and give Bounty this one thing. It was the least he could do, under the circumstances.

Bounty sighed, resigned.

“But if you can’t give me that, I’ll settle for sleeping with you,” he said finally. “And we’ll see how I feel after that.”

He felt, rather than saw, Basque smile. The big man pulled him against his body, wrapping him in his arms. He smelled like dry grass and smoke.

Bounty inhaled and tried to stop thinking.

It helped when Basque kissed him. And when he felt those strong hands sliding up his body, under his shirt, he forgot everything.


	13. Chapter 13

In the days and nights that came after Bounty felt simultaneously defeated and elated.

During the long days that followed, he rode behind the hunter, docile as lamb, watching his dirty blonde hair flutter in the desert wind. He felt he could never get tired of seeing the man so totally in his element. He looked like he’d been carved out of desert sandstone, and been kissed to life by the dry wind. He led them confidently south and west, in a straight line, stopping occasionally for water in one of the little springs. Next to him Bounty felt clumsy and slow and incompetent.

After Bounty had asked Basque to turn back time to a place where he wasn’t wanted and wasn’t going to die, and, when Basque refused, asked him at least not to stop sleeping with him, Bounty had consciously shut down the logical thinking part of his brain.

If he didn’t think about where they were going, he could pretend that they were running away together, like in some romantic story, and ignore the fact that he was willingly following Basque to his own certain death.

That night and in the nights that followed he lost himself in Basque.

He found he couldn’t get enough of him. Rather than satiate him, he felt like every time they had sex, he just wanted it more. When they travelled, he had to actively stop himself from getting lost in fantasies about the feeling of Basque’s skin, his gasps, the wicked way he’d look at Bounty with those glittering blue eyes. The slow smile. The way he lost control piece by piece under Bounty’s fingers. At night when he closed the door of their shared rooms or under a blanket in the desert he couldn’t get his hands on the other man fast enough. He found ways to touch the hunter that made him whisper Bounty’s name and beg for more, golden skin glowing with sweat, every muscle drawn like a bow.

Basque’s body was water in the desert. Bounty wanted every piece of him.

The most baffling part to Bounty was that Basque seemed equally obsessed.

Bounty wondered at the other man’s eagerness. He had to admit that he did not understand the Basque’s motives. Did he always sleep with his marks? His attempt to put a stop to their relationship seemed to indicate not. Was it some sort of plot to keep Bounty from trying to run again? This hypothesis did not fit either, because if anything he had given Bounty _more_ freedom rather than less.

So for Bounty, Basque’s desire for him became the most incredible mystery - a puzzle Bounty couldn’t crack and didn’t care to. 

He noticed, though, he wasn’t the only one studiously not bringing up the future.

He noticed, too, that they weren’t moving very quickly. Basque seemed to have lost any sense of urgency.

They rode together for two weeks, staying in small downs and boarding houses and occasionally on the road. Bounty stopped paying attention. He just followed Basque and tried not to think.

~*~ 

“We need to talk.”

They were two days out of Devil’s Glen and Basque was uncomfortably aware that there were some issues badly in need of addressing.

Bounty looked up at him from the bed, saying nothing. They were in a boarding house in a medium-sized town. It was a nice place, because Basque had splurged a little. He looked down at Bounty, pale limbs tangled in sheets, dark eyes framed in long lashes, full bottom lip between his teeth, still glowing post-sex.

Basque struggled to keep his libido under control. He’d _just_ got his pants back on.

“I need to know some things.”

Bounty sighed and stretched, rolling onto his belly.

“Like what?” his tone was light, but Basque detected his discomfort. He was starting to be able to read the other man well.

“About your sister.” Basque watched Bounty shut down, his face closing.

Well, so much for that.

He sighed and stood up, walking back to the bed. Bounty flinched away from him, pulling the sheets against his body, not meeting his eyes.

“I need to know what I’m getting into,” he forged ahead. No going back now. “Because there’s a few things that don’t make sense.”

Silence greeted him. Basque watched Bounty breathe shallowly and waited. After a while, Bounty asked,

“What do you want to know?” His voice was quiet, broken.

Basque fought back the urge to reach out to him. It was too complicated. The Hunter doesn’t comfort the Bounty. The lover would. Basque felt caught between the two.

“What was she doing that pissed Mace off so much?” Basque softened his voice, trying to be gentle. Bounty sighed.

“She got mixed up with the wrong crowd,” he whispered, keeping his eyes lowered.

“A merchants’ guild. She ran a silk shop in Devil’s Glen. My father’s business…” Bounty choked up a little, and turned his face away. Then he continued, his words coming out in a jumble.

“Mace had started to interfere with trade, and she got together with some friends to stop it. They had some sort of plan. They were going to overthrow him. She asked me for help…” Bounty broke off again, but Basque was nodding. He didn’t need to hear any more.

“You refused, didn’t you?” he asked. Bounty nodded miserably.

“I was afraid…” he whispered. This time Basque did reach out, closing the distance between them.

“It’s okay.” He was surprised by the tenderness of his own voice. He pushed dark hair out of Bounty’s face, felt a stab of pain as the other man flinched away. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault.”

Bounty’s body remained drawn into itself. Like an injured animal.

Basque withdrew his hand. He felt like a monster.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He had known this was wrong from the start.

He should never have taken the job. 

He stood abruptly, and Bounty looked up, surprised.

“I’m going out.” He couldn’t meet Bounty’s eyes.

He needed a drink. He needed six drinks.

He picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it on. Rummaged in the saddlebags to find cash. He felt Bounty’s dark eyes following him. Boring into him. Swallowing him whole.

Basque fled the room, door slamming on his heels.

 _If he has any sense, he’ll run now._ Although it wasn’t as if Basque hadn’t given him plenty of opportunity the last few weeks, he was giving him an open door now.

_Take it, you idiot._

But a small, petty, messed up and very selfish part of him also hoped he didn’t run.

He didn’t know if he could take not seeing him again.

~*~

Bounty was asleep when Basque returned, but he woke up to the unsteady footsteps approaching the bed. He moved over as the big man dropped, fully dressed, onto the sheets.

“You’re still here,” Basque mumbled. He sounded defeated.

Bounty could smell the liquor on him, mixed with the usual smell of leather and sunshine. He reached over, struck a match, and lit the little lantern beside the bed.

Basque flinched and covered his eyes.

“You should take your shoes off,” he said reasonably, his voice scratchy with sleep.

Basque grunted, but reluctantly obeyed. Then he pulled his shirt off, too, and unbuckled his pants, pushing them off his long legs with great effort. His skin glowed amber in the lamplight.

“What time is it?” Bounty asked. He felt disoriented. Basque, freed of his clothing, flopped on to his back.

“No idea,” he responded.

Bounty watched him carefully. He must be drunk, but he handled himself well. How much had he had? Would he be dangerous?

“Where did you go?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“Bar,” Basque grunted in response, and turned to him. Bounty found himself trapped in glittering blue eyes. “I thought you would leave.”

Bounty shrugged at this.

“Where would I go?”

It was Basque’s turn to shrug.

“I don’t know. Anywhere else. Far from me.”

Bounty didn’t answer. Of course the thought had occurred to him, but he’d just as quickly dismissed it. Where could he go that Basque couldn’t follow? And if not Basque, another of Mace’s cronies?

Basque rolled over onto his side to face him, and Bounty caught his breath again. Without meaning to he reached out, fingers finding Basque’s smooth belly, ghosting over his hip. The big man shivered and then chuckled.

“Are you going to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state?” he asked, and Bounty was again struck at how coherent he sounded.

“How much did you drink?”

Basque just shrugged, not answering.

“Would you regret it if I did?” Bounty asked, eyes darting down to that generous mouth. Basque caught his hand with his own and, to Bounty’s surprise, threaded their fingers together before lifting it to his mouth and kissing his closed fingers. It was a shockingly tender gesture. Not at all what Bounty expected

Bounty blinked, unsure how to respond. Basque saved him the effort, rolling on top of him so that he was between Bounty’s legs, pushing Bounty’s hands over his head, and using his free arm to prop himself up over Bounty’s torso.

Bounty relished the feeling of their skin sliding together. Basque was cool from the outside air where he was warm from the blankets. He felt himself start to harden where Basque’s belly pressed against his groin.

Damnit, how did he always do this to him?

Basque bowed his head to kiss Bounty’s neck. He was clumsy but gentle, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin. Bounty, unable to stop himself, pressed up into him, earning another laugh from Basque.

“So eager…”

“I can’t help it...you…” Bounty couldn’t finish the sentence. You do things to do me, he wanted to say. Things no one else has ever done. I can’t get enough of you. Even if it kills me.

Basque’s pupils were huge in his blue eyes. Like black holes in twin bright galaxies. He looked down at Bounty seriously.

“I what?” he pushed, and then bent to kiss Bounty’s bare hip, where the little bird tattoo rested.

Bounty squirmed, uncomfortable as Basque’s long hair tickled sensitive skin.

“you drive me crazy,” he gasped, and Basque smirked at him.

Then he came back up to kiss Bounty’s mouth. Gentle, still. Bounty tasted the liquor, and was reminded of the first time they’d kissed in Jawbone Creek. Where Bounty had drugged him and stolen his horse and disappeared into the desert.

Look where that little ploy had gotten him…

“You drive me crazy too,” Basque told him, voice husky, as they pulled apart.

Bounty didn’t know how to take this. He wasn’t used to this talkative, almost loving version of Basque. Desperate fucking, sure. But he didn’t usually editorialize.

“You’re talkative,” he observed.

“Mmm,” said Basque, and released his hands so he could run his fingers through Bounty’s hair.

“I’ve been thinking through some things.”

Bounty stiffened involuntarily, remembering their earlier conversation.

Basque noticed, pressing his mouth to Bounty’s neck again, kissing along his collar bone.

“Relax.” He hands moved down Bounty’s body and Bounty did relax, involuntarily, as a hand found his butt and squeezed, possessive but gentle.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Basque blew out the lantern.

Things moved relatively quickly and predictably from there.

After a while, Bounty found himself spread beneath Basque, the big man thrusting into him in a slow deliberate rhythm, all the clumsiness of the liquor gone from him, smooth and competent and maybe, yes, a little desperate. Bounty could feel him quiver with unreleased tension, and the sound of his name on Basque’s lips was urgent, needy.

But it still felt different than other times. More careful. This, Bounty thought, was new for Basque. And he had to admit that it was pretty hot.

Neither of them lasted long.

When they were finished, Bounty curled up in Basque’s arms, enjoying his heat. He was falling asleep, lulled by the rise and fall of Basque’s chest, when the hunter’s voice startled him awake.

“I’m not taking you back.”

“What?” He looked up, but all he could see was the shadows and the glimmer of Basque’s eyes in the dark, looking at him.

“I’m not taking you back. To Devil’s Glen.”

Bounty felt panic rising in him. He had not expected this conversation. Not now.

“Then where…” he managed, groggy.

“I don’t know,” said Basque, and shifted a little, pillowing his head under his arm. “I have to figure it out.” A brief silence fell. Bounty felt his heart pounding in his chest. What did this mean? What they hell was Basque playing at?

“Where were you planning to go? You know, before.”

Bounty tried to pull away from Basque but the other man held him. “No. We’re talking about this. Answer my question.”

“North. I have family there.”

Silence.

“Okay. It’s the wrong direction. But we can figure out a way to get you north.”

“But what about…?”

“Me?” Basque laughed.

“I don’t know yet. I’m going to have to figure out a way to prove to Mace you’re dead.”

Bounty stiffened again, and Basque’s arms tightened.

“Relax. You’re too pretty to mutilate. I’ll say I accidently shot you back in the mountains and it was too much work to bring the body out. Got any family heirlooms on you? Something that I could take back as proof?” He twirled a finger in Bounty’s hair. “A lock of hair? A necklace? A photo? Or am I going to have to murder some nice young man to murder and tattoo him with your little bird?” His fingers ghosted idly over the spot, making Bounty shiver.

Bounty considered the question. He’d had a photo of his sister, for a while, but he’d lost it with his horse when Basque had stampeded them, months ago now. He told Basque this.

“You could probably get a different photo. From my family.” He said hesitantly. Basque considered.

“Suppose I could,” he said, sounding dissatisfied. “I’ll worry about it later. In the morning, when we’ve both had some sleep. When I’m not drunk.”

Bounty nodded against his chest.

It didn’t take Basque long to fall asleep. That was the thing about the man, Bounty thought. He never really worried about things.

But Bounty did not sleep. He stayed awake, curled motionless into Basque’s chest, thinking.

~*~

Basque tried and failed to pull the blankets over his eyes.

The sun bored into his skull with the force of a knife, setting off a painful throbbing.

“I feel like shit.” His voice sounded graveled and broken. He rolled over, seeking escape from the merciless blaze. He reached for Bounty, but the banker wasn’t there.

Basque looked up sharply, momentarily alarmed.

He relaxed as he saw Bounty’s dark shape on the other side of the room. He met Basque’s bloodshot eyes with his cool brown ones, a smile playing on his lips.

“Worried I finally split on you?” Bounty asked playfully. He was fully dressed and sitting at the room’s small vanity, a razor in his hand.

He was shaving.

Indeed, as Basque’s eyes focused he realized his bounty looked more polished than he had since Basque had met him. He’d combed his hair. He’d put a jacket on. And he was most of the way through shaving off the scruffy stubble that had grown in over the intervening weeks.

He looked like the man from the wanted poster. Well-bred, Refined. 

Basque took this in, silently, then grunted and dropped his head down to his arms.

He’d had had more to drink than he should have. He remembered, embarrassingly, everything he’d done last night. Everything he’d said.

It was amazing how easy the decision had been made, once he’d got down to it.

But how had Bounty taken it? Basque hadn’t exactly been sensitive. He remembered vividly the way Bounty’s body had tensed under him as he’d broached subject after taboo subject, insensitive and oafish.

He wanted to apologise, but the words caught in his throat. Without the alcohol, it was a lot harder to be honest. He clenched his teeth in frustration.

Bounty finished what he was doing and stood, coming back to the bed. He was holding a flask of water, which he passed to Basque.

“Drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

Basque gave him a half-hearted glare, but took the flask and obeyed him.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly when he’d finished. Bounty flickered that faint smile again.

“We need to talk,” Bounty said softly.

Well, so much for avoiding the subject.

“Yeah,” he agreed anyway.

Bounty sat down on the side of the bed.

“Do you need a minute?” 

Basque grimaced. “A minute won’t get rid of this headache. Lets talk.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…”

“Look,” said Basque, burying his head in his arms. “I’m sorry. I had a lot to drink. I probably said too much. I was probably a jerk about it.” He felt a light touch on his arm and looked up again, surprised.

Bounty was looking down at him seriously.

“Don’t be. It doesn’t change anything,” he said. “Unless you were lying. Or changed your mind.”

Basque shook his head mutely.

“No. I’m not taking you back.”

“I want to go north. My uncle will take me in. But that’s not all.” He paused, his eyes intense. “Basque, can you do something for me?”

Basque met the banker’s dark eyes warily. His look was so serious, so focussed. It was something Basque had never seen from him.

It was strange. After getting to know Bounty: scared of everything, angry at the world, and hopeless at camping, Basque was sort of unprepared for Bounty: competent, driven, and organized. A gentleman again, with all the authoritative bearing of one.

“Like what?”

“I have a letter. For my family.” Bounty reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick packet for Basque to see. “Can you bring it to them?”

When had he written that? How long had Basque been _asleep?_ Basque eyed the packet.

“Probably. Why?”

Bounty looked him the eye, sure and steady. “I’m going to finish what my sister started. I’m going to take down Mace.” The revelation was said with a steady conviction that brooked no argument.

Basque raised an eyebrow.

“With a letter?” The package _was_ rather thick, but unless the banker had packed it with a hand-grenade…

Bounty did not even blink.

“It contains certain instructions to strategic people, and copies of documents. My uncle is deputy-minister with the state government. He has friends in high places. Things are going to get bad in Glen very quickly. I want to keep them safe.”

Basque stared back at him levelly. “And what if Mace has me killed before I’m within twenty miles of Devil’s Glen?”

Bounty stared back, silent. Then, quietly: “I would regret that very much.”

There was a pause. Basque wanted to scream.

He didn’t like the idea. He realized, with a start, that it wasn’t because he didn’t want to deliver Bounty’s letter. It was because he was worried about Bounty. And because Bounty seemed different. And because the beautiful horrible wrong thing they had been doing was ending.

And maybe, because after spending weeks trying to track him down and keep him alive before reaching the painful and questionable decision not to turn him in, it seemed profoundly wrong to just _let him go_. Especially if was going to do something foolish.

“Bounty,” he said, and was surprised to hear the tone of his voice go dark with emotion. Bounty looked at him sharply.

Unexpectedly, the faint smile came back. Bounty reached out then, and pushed Basque’s blonde hair out of his face where it had fallen into his eyes.

“Will you do it?”

Basque met his gaze steadily, trying not to lean into Bounty’s touch. He noticed that the other man’s smooth hands were pleasantly cool from the water in the wash basin.

“I’ll do it,” he said gruffly.

“Thank you,” he said. Then, teasingly, “I know its not the usual kind of thing to do for a bounty.”

Basque caught the smaller man’s wrist in one of his big hands and pulled it to his mouth. He marvelled at its softness.

Even after all this time, everything he’d been through, Bounty had not developed so much as a callous. 

“You’re not my bounty any more,” he said softly, and kissed Bounty’s closed fingers.

Bounty froze, the light smile falling from his face.

Basque dropped Bounty’s hand and looked away, embarrassed. It had been a tender gesture. Too tender, considering the circumstances.

He’d forgotten himself.

“Anyway, its not all about you,” he said, stretching, and trying to diffuse the sudden seriousness in their mood. “I like that town. I’m worried you’re going to wreck it.”

Bounty pulled his hand into his chest, cradling it. A fierce light had come into his eyes.

“I won’t,” he said. Then, quietly, “One day, when this is all over, I want to go back too.”

“Why? The question was past Basque’s lips before he could stop it, curiosity winning over common sense. But Bounty was unphased.

“Its my home, Basque. Same as you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Bounty was shocked at how little time it took them to get north, once the decision had been made. Five days on horseback, pushing the animals to the point of tiredness but not exhaustion.

He strongly suspected that, before the decision, Basque had chosen a rather circuitous route back to Devil’s Glen. One that actually hadn’t taken them particularly far south. But if this was the case, Basque wasn’t giving it away and Bounty did not dare ask.

Direction of travel was not the only change. Their relationship had shifted as well. Bounty had a hard time orienting himself.

Basque was no longer in control of their journey. Bounty was. And he felt the shift acutely.

Basque did not exactly defer to him, but neither did he provide the same sort of leadership as he had before. They were not quite friends, not quite lovers, not quite adversaries. Without any of those relationships to guide them, they felt oddly mismatched. The gentleman politician and the rough and tumble bounty hunter. They had nothing in common.

During the day they rarely spoke, focusing on covering as much ground as possible. There was little to talk about, and neither of them particularly wanted to contemplate the implications of their sudden change in plans.

In the evenings Basque was quiet and serious. They spoke about the road, the fire, the food, the weather, or logistics -- but little else.

At night, though, they still slept curled around each other. Basque draped his long golden limbs over Bounty possessively under their single woolen blanket. It was not something they discussed, but Bounty found himself grateful for it. The sex was easy but a little frantic. Bounty found himself clinging to Basque, less interested in the actual fucking than in the comfort and the contact, the need to be close.

They both sensed change and they were both tired from long days on the road and they both were grappling with an internal struggle that neither knew how to fully address.

Bounty stared at the big man’s back as they passed through farms…then suburbs…then bustling city streets.

When Basque stopped, pulling his horse up, Bounty almost ran his own animal right into him, he was so lost in thought.

“Your turn, now, Bounty.” The hunter’s voice was gruff. They had arrived.

“Oh. Of course. It’s in the business district. I’ll lead.”

~*~

By the time they found Bounty’s uncle’s house it was twilight, the air cooling.

Basque looked around, unsettled. They were in the business district alright. The horses clopped tiredly along smooth cobbled streets between the looming facades of what could only be described as mansions. Oil lamps burned brightly in large windows draped with thick richly coloured curtains. The few passers-by were well-dressed and looked at the two of them curiously from under crisp bowlers and lace fascinators.

Not Basque’s usual crowd.

They turned down side street after side street until Bounty finally stopped at the end of a row in front of a tall iron gate. Behind it was a big cobbled yard and a four-story brick mansion, its windows glowing warm and orange. He walked up to it and hailed the doorman, who came grudgingly to greet them.

“Anthony,” Bounty said, his voice lilting a little with a relieved laugh. “Its me, Bounty.”

“Bounty?” the man lifted the lantern, illuminating Bounty’s face. Bounty swung down from his saddle and stepped into the circle of light. Anthony’s eyes went wide with shock.

“What the hell are you doing here? Pardon my language sir. I heard…”

“I’ve had trouble,” said Bounty. “I need help. I need to see my uncle.”

The doorman was already unlatching the gate.

“Of course! We weren’t expecting you! Is everything alright? Who is this?”

The man had caught sight of Basque, still mounted and waiting quietly in the shadowed street.

Bounty turned to look at Basque, surprised.

Basque felt sick. It was like Bounty had forgotten he was there. Bounty froze, uncertain.

“This is my…uh…my friend. He brought me here.”

Anthony nodded, accepting this easily.

“Your uncle will be at dinner with the family, but he will not wait to see you. You should go up right away. I will send Georgie to get him. Georgie!” The gate was open. Bounty was leading his horse inside. Disappearing…

“Wait.” Basque was surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I…”

Both Anthony and Bounty turned and looked at him in surprise, but Basque could not read his expression in the shadows. The silence stretched.

“I’ll leave you here,” Basque finished, lamely.

Bounty was still for a moment while the doorman looked between the two men, confused. Bounty passed the reins of his horse to the doorman. “Take my horse, Anthony. I need to talk to my friend.”

Anthony just nodded and obeyed, taking the tired horse into the well-lit yard without looking back. A boy was emerging from the stables, rubbing his eyes.

Bounty came to Basque, his pace brisk.

“Leave? Now?” his voice was alarmed.

“You’re here. You’re safe. I don’t need to stay with you any more.” It had all happened so fast, Basque thought dazedly.

“My uncle will have you –“

“No.” Basque cut him off.

Had he forgotten that Basque was his _bounty hunter_? His loving family would hardly welcome him. Until a week ago, Basque had fully intended to turn him in to the man who would have killed him. Bounty had lied to his doorman – they were not friends. Could never be friends.

Bounty had reached Basque’s horse’s shoulder and grabbed the rein, as if to physically prevent Basque from leaving.

“But – “

“I’ll deliver your letter, Bounty.” His voice as firm now. Decided.

Bounty looked up at him, his face a mask of confusion. The nauseous feeling increased.

““But what will you do? Where will you sleep?”

Basque couldn’t help the little smile that curled the corners of his mouth.

“Why are you so concerned?” He held the reins in one hand and, before he could think about what he was doing, lifted the other and placed his fingers under Bounty’s chin. Then he leaned over his horse’s shoulder and placed his lips on Bounty’s.

They were in the shadows. The doorman was busy. No one would see. And Basque needed this.

_One last kiss._

Bounty was too surprised to respond, his own hand coming up to grip Basque’s wrist as he made a muffled sound of surprise.

“Goodbye Bounty.”

Bounty said nothing, his dark eyes huge. But he did not resist when Basque, his heart aching, pulled away.

~*~

Three weeks later in Devil’s Glen, Basque found Meera at one of her port offices, doing paperwork.

He was listless. Directionless.

After returning to Devil’s Glen, slipping in in the dead of night, he’d delivered Bounty’s letter as asked. The trip home had been lonely, but at least he’d had a sense of purpose.

Now that the letter was delivered, he had no purpose any more. He felt utterly lost.

His only goal was to stay out of Mace’s way until whatever Bounty had planned _happened_ making it possible to show is face again or making it impossible to continue hiding out. But whatever Bounty was doing it was either at a level Basque was unaware of, had failed before it started, or was a long con.

So Basque waited. And waited. And waited. And nothing happened. Things in Devil’s Glen remained torturously quiet.

After a while Basque started hoping Mace _would_ find him, just for something interesting to do.

The worst part was trying not to think about Bounty.

Whenever his mind wandered, Basque found himself wondering what the man was up to. Was he here in the city again? Would he ever come back? Every time Basque caught sight of a dark-haired young man in a nice suit he had to fight down the little leap of hopeful recognition.

 _He wouldn’t want you any more anyway_ , he told himself. How long had it taken for the Stockholm syndrome to wear off? For Bounty to think back on what he’d done with disgust?

Besides, Bounty was beautiful. There was no doubt he had his choice of well-mannered partners appropriate to his station when he wanted them. Sleeping with Basque had been convenient. Or maybe protection. Or maybe some fucked up power thing. Nothing more, and now that Bounty was safe Basque had no doubt that he would think differently about their time together.

Try as me might to push Bounty from his mind the man always came back to him. At night, alone and cold under his blankets, his libido plagued him with images of Bounty, the feeling of his body, that slow smile, dark eyes he could fall into, the heat of his mouth.

Eventually, Basque couldn’t take it any more. If something was brewing, he reasoned, Meera would know about it. And that was how he ended up at her door, risking discovery but desperate from something – anything.

She answered his knock with a surly “What?” and glared at him over rimmed spectacles as he entered, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Oh, its you.” She put her pen down. “Where the hell have you been, anyway? Its been months.”

“Nice of you to notice,” Basque growled.

“That bounty give you trouble?”

“I’m not the one he’s giving trouble.”

She eyed him now, a speculative look coming over her face. “Ah, so you heard his backstory.”

“You knew?” He shouldn’t have been surprised. Meera didn’t even bother to nod an affirmation. She just blinked slowly at him, as if disappointed in his assessment of her.

Of _course_ she knew.

“Could’ve told me,” he said, failing to keep sulkiness out of his voice.

She shrugged. “Would it have made a difference?”

Basque thought about it. Thought about all the things they’d done. He wasn’t sure if knowing would have made a difference, actually. It hurt, a little, to think about it.

He invited himself into the room, pulling up a chair across from her desk and sitting down.

“Maybe, maybe not. You’re against it then?”

She shrugged non-committedly and avoided the question.

“Did you catch him?”

“Yep,” said Basque. It was true. He _had_ caught him.

And let him go again.

He watched her carefully. She tsked.

“Too bad. I had higher hopes for him.”

“So you supported his sister?”

“At the time I neither supported nor did not support her,” said Meera neutrally.

“And now?”

Meera sighed and leaned across the desk, looking tired. She pulled her glasses off and set them to the side of her desk, meeting his eyes.

“Now I feel differently. Turns out Mace’s little games with the silk merchants was just the beginning. He’s got his dirty paws in everything now. Messing up business. Makes it hard for honest folk to make a decent profit. If I had the chance, now, I’d support his sister. Hell, I’m tempted to take him out myself.”

Basque let this sink in for a minute.

“Well in that case,” he said eventually, “I have some information you might be interested in.”

~*~

Shit hit the proverbial fan not too long after that.

Meera, sufficiently motived and connected to the right people, became a goddess of chaos. It wasn’t long before fighting erupted in the streets – a low-grade war between merchants, allied with the banks, versus local “law” enforcement.

Basque tried to keep his head down. Even with things unsettled, he knew Mace would not stop looking for him. Chances are he would (however rightly) put some of the blame for his current predicament on Basque.

So Basque was alarmed but not entirely surprised when he returned to his safe house one night to find two large men waiting outside his room.

He tried to turn around, but there were two more behind him.

He reached for his gun.

“Now now,” drawled one of them, the leader. “No need to be hasty.”

Basque disagreed, but let his hand drop away from his weapon.

“We just want to have a little chat. Why don’t you come in?” The big man gestured through Basque’s open door. Basque saw the room had been thoroughly turned over. He eyed the speaker warily and then did as suggested, striding through the doorframe and into the ruined room.

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to sound unworried.

All four men entered the room and closed the door behind him. It felt crowded. Basque positioned himself by the window and crossed his arms.

“Some information,” said the leader, smirking in a way that he probably thought was disarming. “Regarding an ongoing investigation. Why don’t you go ahead and put your gun on the table?”

Basque said nothing, but obeyed, putting his gun on the table. It was still within arms reach, if he was quick.

“The Sheriff has learned that you’re back in town. He was expecting you to come in for an update on your progress.” The big man shrugged. “When he didn’t get it, he sent us to come check up. Any reason you’ve missed your appointment?

“Slipped my mind.” Said Basque flatly. The leader’s smile widened.

“Well that’s dandy. We can just take care of it now.”

One of the others – bad cop, Basque assumed – stepped forward. He was scowling.

“Where’s the kid?” he asked.

“No idea,” said Basque, turning to bad cop. “He gave me the slip. Mace was right, he’s a slippery bastard.” They were advancing on him. Two of them were on either side of him now. Good cop nodded at them, and they grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back.

“Lets try that again,” said bad cop, advancing on him ominously. He was now between Basque and his gun.

Without ceremony, he punched Basque in the gut. Basque doubled over with a yell, surprised and in pain.

“Where’s the kid?” bad cop asked again. Basque tried to suck air back into his lungs.

“I…told…you…”

This time bad cop swung at his face. Basque, unable to react in time, felt his head snap back at the impact. His vision blurred and blackened.

“I’ll ask you one more time…” the voice sounded far away. Basque pulled himself together with some effort.

Goddamnit, Bounty.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you.”

Bad cop backed off, looking satisfied.

Basque chose this moment to strike, kicking backwards at one of the men restraining him while twisting out of the grip of the other. He was around bad cop and had his hand on his gun in a heartbeat. He shot good cop, turned, and shot the one he’d kicked (he was still between Basque and the window). He shot at the other guy, too, but missed.

He was a good distance toward the window before a bullet caught him in his shoulder. Another zinged by his ear close enough for him to feel the wind.

Bad cop had finally collected his wits enough to take out his weapon. He counted his lucky stars and exited ungracefully in a shower of glass, landing in the landlady’s hedges. He untangled himself and started to run.

Despite himself, he felt a kind of elation.

Finally.

Something was happening

~*~

It was not long after that when Meera shot Mace at his desk while her hired army swarmed the station. Her people took out his hired muscle with the kind of efficiency only vast amounts of money could buy.

Basque was aware of none of it.

Instead, he lay on his back in a hot little attic room above one of Meera’s warehouses, sweating and wondering if he was going to die.

His bullet wound had festered. He was sick, but he refused to let Meera call a doctor. At first this was because he was afraid of detection. Later he forgot why he was doing it. Eventually, when he became unresponsive, so she ignored him and did it anyway.

~*~

Two weeks later Basque was on his feet again, if a little unsteady.

His little attic room was small but well-appointed with big windows and a narrow balcony that looked out over the street.

He did not remember how he’d got there. He had vague memories of her standing over the narrow cot, arms crossed, while the doctor dressed his wound.

“Why?” he’d croaked. Her mouth had been a thin line.

“Don’t take it personally,” she had replied sharply, “I’m being well paid.”

He hadn’t known what to make of this and the effort of trying to sort it out had pushed him back into slumber.

Now he was sipping coffee from a clay mug, leaning over the edge of his little balcony in the morning sun, enjoying the feeling of being alive.

On the quiet street below a group of young men had appeared, standing out in their crisp suits and near haircuts from the usual merchant rabble. They were talking quietly with each other, and Basque could hear the occasional exclamation of laughter or surprise.

He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help carefully examining the little group for _his_ familiar face, that crisp neat body language, the sound of his soft laughter.

It was habitual now.

Yet would the banker even look the way he’d looked when Basque had left him?

He knew he was being foolish. He didn’t even know if Bounty planned to come back to Devil’s Glen after everything – even with Mace gone and Bounty’s murder charges officially pardoned by the governor.

Basque sighed and downed the last of his coffee.

He should stop daydreaming and get busy.

He _desperately_ needed something to distract himself.

~*~ 

When Basque turned around, Bounty was there.

At first Basque thought he was hallucinating again. But if he was, it was a convincing trick. For one, Bounty did not look like Basque imagined him. He was wearing different clothing and he’d had a hair cut.

The young man had draped himself over Basque’s little sitting chair and adopted an affectation of complete boredom.

Basque froze in the doorway, nearly dropping his coffee cup. Bounty, pleased as a cat, tipped his chin back and smiled lazily.

“Hello.”

Basque could think of nothing to say to this and just blinked, surprised into complete silence. Bounty swung his legs to the floor and stood, stretching long limbs.

“Are you going to stand there gaping like a fish all day, or are you going to offer me a coffee?

Basque collected the scattered pieces of his brain.

“Bounty.” He said. It was not a question. Bounty just looked at him, amused. Basque narrowed his eyes and then gestured at the coffee pot, still warm on the stove.

“You can get your own damn coffee.”

Bounty’s smile widened as he shrugged and went to the stove to pour himself a cup. Basque watched him go, wondering if he was dreaming.

Bounty was dressed well, but not at all like the men in the street. He wore a long wool coat over riding trousers and tall black boots He looked like he had just come from the road.

“How did you…” Basque began.

“Meera let me in,” said Bounty over his shoulder.

Basque cursed her under his breath. “Treacherous woman.”

“I heard you were hurt.” Bounty had poured his coffee and turned to face Basque again. The playfulness had gone out of his gaze and had been replaced with concern.

Basque pressed his lips together and ignored the implied question.

“When did you arrive?”

Bounty sipped his coffee.

“I came in with my uncle. He and Meera are meeting now, with the new Sheriff.” He paused. “She seems to have things well in hand. This coffee is terrible, by the way.”

“What will you…are you…” Basque didn’t know what to ask or how to ask it. He flushed and looked down, angry with himself.

Bounty just laughed softly and closed the distance between them, abandoning his cup to come stand before Basque in the patio doorway.

Basque let the smell of cinnamon and coffee wash over him like a wave.

“Am I what? Here? Back? Yes. For now. What about it?” Amusement glittered in his eyes.

Basque sought desperately for the right words.

_Do you still want me? Do you hate me for what I did to you?_

“Can you…” his voice was quiet and strained, but he forced himself to continue. “Can you forgive me Bounty? For what I did to you?”

He met the other man’s dark eyes, his stomach in knots.

For so long he had been sure that Bounty would not. That when he returned to the safety of his family and realize what Basque had done to him, he would be angry. But Bounty was not angry. He was here. Insulting his coffee and watching Basque intensely.

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t already,” Bounty said impatiently. He reached out and took Basque’s own cup from him, setting it on the sideboard. Basque let him do it, fingers limp. With the cup out of the way Bounty reached for his hand, threading their fingers together.

“And if you recall, I _did_ make the first move.” His voice had taken on a husky tone. Basque could think of nothing to say, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Bounty sighed and shook his head, seeming to sense Basque’s uncertainty.

“Look,” he said, “If it makes you feel better, I really do think we started off on the wrong foot.”

Basque blinked, wordless. The wrong foot. If you could call hunting a man down and sending him to his certain death ‘the wrong foot.’

Bounty continued, not giving him a chance to object. “I know its not logical, but I like you, Basque. Its been weeks and the whole time….I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He lowered his eyes, dark lashes fanning over pale cheeks.

“I think we should try this again. On more civilized terms.”

Basque reeled. The silence stretched until Bounty raised his eyes again, the playfulness coming back into them again.

“You can start,” Bounty suggested, “by taking me out for a _decent_ coffee.”

Basque felt the tiniest glimmer of hope come into him.

“Um…want to go for coffee?”

The banker’s face lit up with an enormous grin, unfettered, unrestrained. Basque felt his heart leap.

“I’d love to.” 

~*~

Fin!

~*~

A/N: Admittedly, this fic is pretty rough. Thank you for reading it anyway! One day I will return and polish it so that it flows better and comes to a stronger conclusion! I hope you enjoyed it, despite its flaws. ~ Ruminavi <3


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